#i have never hurt a fly in my life yet I am unworthy of a flat I can afford

[teta-veleta]

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[sixty-silver-wishes]

It's 2023 and I live in Florida.

I've lived my whole life in central Florida (with the nearest city being Orlando), and the general political climate I grew up in was pretty moderate. The far-right shift things have been taking honestly came as a shock (although to be fair, confronting the rise of fascism in your backyard is a tough pill to swallow no matter where you live), considering the atmosphere I was raised in; I remember going on vacation to places like Georgia and Tennessee when I was a kid and being shocked to see people flying Confederate battle flags and selling them as souvenirs in gift shops. Florida always felt like more of a mixed bag, albeit a whiplash-inducing one; you can go down to Mims and see Trump signs tacked up everywhere, or you can go to Lake Eola and see pride flags in all the windows.

Both the Pulse and Parkland shootings happened when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember how both of them rocked my community. We staged walkouts at school, had conversations with our families and friends about topics like gun control and the LGBT+ community that lasted for weeks, and it felt like a sense of mourning and desire for progress could be felt within everyone I knew.

Which is one of the many reasons why whatever the fuck Desantis is doing infuriates me so much. I hate to see the place I grew up in turned into what it's becoming, and frankly, it's painful not just to see outsiders see it first and foremost in this way, but for them to be right about it. When Kathy Hochul told conservative New Yorkers to "move to Florida," to me, that felt like a stab in the gut, that the place I lived and grew up in should be recognized nationally like this. For me, that just wasn't Florida. Did we have conservative crazies? Sure, but overall, I always saw Florida as a much more diverse and multifaceted place than people give it credit for. But unfortunately, with the insane laws being passed here and Desantis receiving a level of support that to me seems unthinkable (I swear, he could write "I am a fascist" on his forehead and people still wouldn't give a shit), and the fear I feel every day that things are getting worse and worse, the apathy that follows as a survival mechanism that I keep reminding myself that I can't give into, it feels unrecognizable. And yet, this didn't come out of nowhere.

My advice to those who are still reading? Don't be apathetic. Oppression is happening here, and will continue to worsen, and by writing off entire populations as people unworthy of compassion, you are writing off the people who are oppressed and may not be able to "just leave," who are suffering the most under such legislation and sociopolitical climates. Fascism thrives off of fear and dividing people into "us" and "them," so I'm begging you, remember the humanity of those who are suffering under it- and yes, that includes the people who have been indoctrinated into it. Do you have to like them, excuse them, or forgive them? Absolutely not. But their fears and ignorance are being preyed upon, and that will end up hurting more people in the long run.

Secondly, don't think it can never happen to you. I've seen people in blue states constantly dismiss whatever Desantis and co. are doing because it doesn't affect them, but if he runs for president and wins, he becomes the entire country's problem. And it doesn't have to be him; we've seen far-right ideology spreading across the country, perpetrated by multiple people. I've seen Europeans and Canadians blaming the rise of far-right movements in their countries on Trump and America, and while Trump and far-right American movements may have encouraged them, fascism can show up anywhere; the first step to fighting it acknowledges that there's never just one person to blame; it works systemically and thrives off of apathy. Think critically, stay educated, and most importantly, stay compassionate.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

What do you think Grima and Eomer are most scared of? Apart from being left alone with each other, of course :) I think Eomer is terrified of spiders - he has to ask Eowyn to remove them. Grima's fears are probably grander and more philosophical e.g. non-existence, failure, imperfection. But I bet he's terrified of weird stuff as well - exposed knees, clowns, steep stairs...

Oooooooh I love this question!! (granted I love any and all questions about these two)

[Oh god this got so long, I’m sorry but also not sorry.]

So I mean, it would depend what kind of fear we’re talking about. 

In terms of day-to-day fears/things that spook you or creep you out. I think Eomer has a REAL problem with house (mead hall?) centipedes. 

‘Too many legs, Grima. They have too many legs. I did not sign up for this.’ 

Once. when Eomer was like 10, he woke up with a house centipede on his chest and he’s never recovered. 

Grima just shoos the critter outside. Eowyn lectures her brother about their importance in the grand ecosystem. Eomer doesn’t care. 

Like when Eomer sees a house centipede all the hair on his body stands on end and he feels that cold wash of terror. I mean, if he had to, he could deal with it himself. But he’d be internally screaming the entire time. Stoic externally, of course. He is a brave rider of Rohan! But inside? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

-

I think Grima gets creeped out by uncanny valley things. Mostly dolls. I think he assumes 90% of all dolls are cursed. One time his niece left her doll behind and Grima had to lock it in a box and hide it in a storage room and he was still a little convinced that it was going to escape and murder them all. Chucky style. 

Eomer: I want to get my sister a doll for the baby she and Faramir are about to have. How about this one? 

Grima: W h y would you traumatize a baby like that Eomer? Are you a monster? 

Eomer: This .... this is a cute doll. It’s not going to haunt them. 

Grima: You don’t know that for certain. Look at those beady eyes. Always watching. 

Eomer: Ghosts and draugr are fine but not dolls?

Grima: My undead brother might be a pain in the arse but at least I know what to expect from him. Mostly his trying to eat people. But it’s within the bounds of reason. That fucking doll on the other hand? Who knows what it thinks in the dark hours of the night. Who knows what secrets it holds in its heart. 

Eomer: . . .I think I’ll just get the kid a stuffed animal horse. 

Grima: Much better. 

I also think Grima gets easily spooked by flying insects. Like once he ascertains that the sudden movement within his line of vision isn’t going to hurt him, he’s fine. But his initial reaction is to get up and leave very quickly and let Eomer deal with it. Grima has a strong association between sudden movements and getting punched. Reasonable, really. 

Shared thing? I think Eomer and Grima both find teeth to be really creepy. 

Eowyn: They’re just bones in your mouth. It’s fine. 

Grima: MOUTH BONES??? DON’T CALL THEM THAT. 

Eowyn: Mouth! Bones! Mouth! Bones!

Eomer: I hate all of this. 

Eowyn: Mouth bonessssss! 

Eomer shows up in Osgiliath, hasn’t seen Eowyn in like two years, she gives him a hug and whispers ‘mouth bones’ into his ear just to freak him out. Because they’re loving and caring siblings like that. 

Eowyn: My daughter is just starting to get her mouth bones in.

Grima: I refuse to engage with this.

Faramir: Babe, why are you like this??

Eomer: I brought this doll for her. 

Eowyn: That is so cursed, I’m surprised Grima let you buy it. 

Eomer: I don’t know, I think it’s kind of cute. 

Eowyn: hmmmm yeah well you’re sleeping with that thing over there so I don’t know that your judgement can be trusted. 

Grima: h e y.

Faramir: What kind of family did I marry into??

/

Now, for deeper fears. 

Eomer is the one who has a deep seated fear of failure. Of not living up to the expectations set on him from a very young age. Both as son of Eomund, who is like local hero 101, and as nephew to the king. Being orphaned at a young age, I suspect he had a lot of pressure placed on him to Be the Man in the Family. To Take Care Of Everyone etc.  

And it’s hard being the son of someone who has a bit of a legend around them when they’re alive, let alone when they’re dead and so they become an impossible standard to live up to. 

This isn’t to say Eomer is a stick in the mud and doesn’t get up to mischief. This is the man who drops sick burns for a living and can be described as “compulsively truculent”. Like, Eomer at 18 was absolutely a bit of a mad lad. But, there was always this fear and anxiety hanging over him of having to live up to great expectations - most of which he’s placed on himself but he’s not aware of that. 

Later, I’ve always headcanon-ed that he does a bit of that daft thing of comparing himself to Aragorn and is like “I’m not living up to the story book legend who rules the neighbouring kingdom” and despairs. 

Eowyn: You’re doing fine. And really, Boromir and Arwen run 80% of everything. Aragorn disappears into the mountains at any given moment. 

Eomer: But what if I’m somehow failing everything at all times? Have you thought about that? That I’m failing our parents and ruining our father’s legacy and destroying our uncle’s trust in me??

Eowyn: .  . . yeah that’s not happening. You’re fine. 

Eomer: BUT AM I???

Eowyn awkwardly pats his hand, ‘You’re fine.’ Eomer despairs. 

Grima: Can’t do worse than me. 

Eowyn: Yeah! You can’t do worse than Grima. 

Eomer: That bar is so low it’s underground. 

Additional to this, I think Eomer is scared of letting things go - like giving up control in situations. Because he’s got it into his head that so long as he is in control he can keep everyone safe and no one will die (i.e. his sister). And he’s terrified of things heading down the Road of Chaos. 

Which like, Eomer, good luck with that. You live in Middle Earth and Grima’s still around being the agent of chaos that he is. 

Grima: I’ve had a thought. 

Eomer: Oh no. Put it back where you found it. 

Grima: Too late, I’ve told Eothain and he thinks it’s great. 

Eomer: Gods preserve me. 

Eothain: Ok but hear us out -- 

-

For Grima - he’s got a long of weird, existential fears. The World Ending being the biggest of them. He’s got a bit of a nihilistic, hopeless streak in him that can get quite philosophical in terms of dread. 

But for more personal, grounded fears, I think the main one is that he’s terrified of being seen. Of being vulnerable. Because if people see him/know him, surely they’ll hate him and leave him and that would hurt so, so much. Therefore, if he’s mean to everyone, including himself, then people can’t hurt him because he’s already doing their work for them to himself. 

Yet, he’s also afraid of being alone and so desperately wants to love and be loved but doesn’t know how to go about making that happen in a healthy, normal manner. So he self-sabotages. Tells himself things like, “I was not a lovable child, and I’d grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul and it’d be a scribble with fangs.” - Gillian Flynn 

This just creates a fucked up freeze/thaw cycle of “I want to fit in and belong somewhere, but if people know me they’ll see what an ugly thing I am, better that they don’t know me, so let me shut them out/be mean to them etc., no one cares for me because I am unworthy of it, this hurts a lot, and I think fitting in and belonging would probably stop it hurting, but if people know me they’ll see what an ugly thing I am, better they don’t ... so on and so forth.” 

So yeah. His deep seated fears of being vulnerable + being along make for some twisted thinking and lots of self-sabotaging. 

Grima; What is emotional vulnerability?? Never heard of it. 

Theoden: You could give it a try, you know. 

Grima: No. I refuse. 

Grima does that thing that Carrie Fisher talks about: “Of all the violence I have known in my life, I have not known violence like the way I talk to myself.” 

/

Thank you so much for the ask! This was an absolute blast to answer. I loved every minute of it. 

I love all Grima and Eomer questions. 

<3 <3 

[wrenhyperfixates]

Through it All

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: The happiness of the night of your engagement to Loki is suddenly marred by the fact that your brother has been hurt. Loki, however, remains by your side and helps you through your pain. Warnings: mentions of a car accident, but not descriptive in the slightest; fluff A/N: Here you go my lovely nonny! Please enjoy :) 

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

The weight of the ring box was heavy in Loki’s jacket pocket. He was currently seated across from you at Le Jules Verne, one of the best restaurants the city of Paris had to offer. You’d just finished dessert, and he was taking the last sips of his wine. Unfortunately, it was the Midgardian kind, so it did not quite take the edge off of his nerves as he had been hoping.

“Merci,” he said to the waiter that brought him the check.

“So, after this we’re going to go to the top of the tower, right?” you asked, eyes wide with anticipation. “And then I’m thinking we stop at that little bakery near our hotel. You know, the one that has those delicious macarons. And then tomorrow is our last day here. Can you believe it? I feel like it went so fast.”

“Indeed, my darling, it sounds like a wonderful plan. As for when our last day is, we could always take more time if that is what you desire.”

“I’m pretty sure Fury would kill us.”

“Well, I would like to see him try. You forget, I am a god.”

You laughed as the waiter came back to collect the check. A few minutes later, you and Loki were on your way to the top of the Eiffel Tower, hand in hand, both of you smiling uncontrollably. Reaching your destination, you stood by the railing and looked out over the beautiful city, talking about everything and nothing. Eventually, the conversation fizzled out, and you fell into silence, the kind that is just as meaningful as talking. You rested your head on Loki’s shoulder, and his thumb rubbed circles onto the back of your hand, still clasped together with his. Your beauty in the moonlight and the smile on your face made his heart swell with love for you. There was no doubt in his mind that he was making the right move. Loki said your name and gently pulled away from you.

“What is it?” you asked.

“There’s something I have been wanting to say for a long time now. Do you remember what you said to me three years ago today?”

“Sure I do. It was the night of our first date. You’d been so nervous you hardly said anything, and I thought you’d just said yes to me out of pity. When I asked you about it, though, you told me that it was because you were unworthy, a monster. Then I told you that you were no monster, that it’s all perspective, and the true monsters would never admit themselves one. The fact that you thought yourself so unworthy actually proved the opposite. You were beautiful then Loki. You’re still beautiful now. Why do you ask?”

“Because that was the day I knew I wanted to marry you.”

He got down on one knee and brought out the box, popping it open to reveal a beautiful ring. You let out an audible gasp, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. You stammered his name, trying to find the words to describe what you were feeling right now. For a brief second, you wondered if this was a dream, if you’d fallen asleep resting against Loki. Maybe he had teleported you back to the hotel and was currently tucking you in, placing a kiss to your forehead before climbing in beside you. But no, his eyes were too vivid, that hard to place color that never was exactly as sharp in your dreams. This was real. This was the happiest day of your life.

“Darling,” he began, “I cannot properly express how much I love you. You are the air I breathe. My very heart, that steady beat you provide giving me life. I do not know how else to say it except to call you my everything. I want to devote myself to you, unite our lives forever. My dearest darling, will you do me the incredible honor of marrying me?”

“I- Loki, of course I will,” you said, happy tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Yes, of course. Nothing in this world could ever make me happier.”

Arising from his position on the floor, Loki slid the ring onto your finger. You pulled him in for a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist and yours behind his neck. After breaking apart, you admired the ring and released a dreamy sigh.

“It’s perfect, Loki. Let’s take a picture so we always remem-”

Your sentence cut off abruptly, and you sucked in a sharp breath, your entire body going stiff as you looked at the screen of your phone. You typed something into it, hands now shaking. A second later, it rang. Pressing accept, you raised it to your ear.

“Please tell me it’s not true,” you whispered to whoever was on the other end.

Loki strained, trying to hear what was being said. He could make out a few of the words your mother’s hysterical voice uttered. Accident... Brother... Dying. You were crying now, though it was no longer from joy. A few moments later, you hung up. Your hand fell to your side, and Loki was quick to crush your body against his in a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Loki,” you said. “We have to go. Now. I have to book a flight. Quick. I- I have to.”

Loki shushed you as silent sobs wracked your body. “No need to apologize, darling. Just tell me where you need to go.”

You numbly rattled off the address of the hospital your brother had been brought to. Still holding you tight, Loki instantly transported you there, before even your parents could arrive. Minutes later, they came rushing in, and you and your mother hugged each other, becoming one sobbing mess.

“Loki,” your father greeted, sounding more dead than alive.

“Sir, I am sorry to hear the news,” he solemnly replied, giving his hand a firm shake. “Please, let me know if there is anything I can do.”

All he was met with was a small nod of the head from your father who was too close to tears to choke anything else out. Eventually, you sat down in the waiting room, your tears spent for the moment. It was still unclear what exactly had happened, you just knew that there had been a bad car crash. Your brother was in fatal condition, barely hanging on to life. The doctors were doing everything they could, but things were looking bleak.

“Darling, look at me,” Loki gently ordered, pulling you into his lap. He took your hand and placed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “He will survive; he is a fighter. Your Midgardian doctors are very talented, and I have every faith they will save him. You must not give up hope.”

“He could die, though. They said he’s in a bad condition. I... I don’t know if he’s going to make it, Loki, and I can’t stand that thought.”

“Bad condition, yes, but not dead. He will recover, I am sure of it. Your belief in that can make all the difference. Please, darling, hold on.”

“Ok,” you whispered, trying to be as strong as Loki, your pillar of light in this dark tragedy. “I’ll try.”

The waiting felt like it was lasting forever. You cried in short bursts for the next hour, all the while Loki rubbed comforting patterns on your back. You didn’t know it, but they were runes for protection, comfort, clarity, and love. He kept whispering words in your ear, both Midgardian and Asgardian, trying to make you feel better. The fact that he was there at all helped a great deal.

Finally, just when you thought you couldn’t take the suspense anymore, the doctor came out with an unreadable face. You all held in a breath, fearing the worst but praying for the best.

“He’s alright for now,” the doctor said. “He’s stable for the moment, but we have concerns. He’ll need to stay in the hospital for a while longer.”

Your mother burst out crying again, this time from relief, thanking the doctor profusely. After talking to him for a few more minutes, you were allowed to go back and see your brother. Loki, however, was not yet allowed to visit on account of he wasn’t family.

Settling back down into a waiting room chair, Loki sighed in relief. For all his bold, confident words, he wasn’t all that sure your brother would survive. Thankfully, though, he was fine, and Loki could rest easy knowing your concern would be greatly lessened.

“Hey,” you said a while later, coming back into the waiting area. “You didn’t have to wait here for me. I could have caught a ride with my parents.”

“But the thing is, my darling, I wanted to stay to make sure you were going to be ok. I did have to stay because my heart, my love, tethers me to you. I needed to be here for you.”

“I love you, Loki.”

You cupped his cheek and kissed him sweetly. Moving back, he grabbed your hand and carefully removed your ring. You gave him a quizzical look, but before you could question him, he was getting on one knee, and you began to catch on.

“I cannot imagine my life without you in it,” he said. “Through our triumphs and our failures, our gains and our losses, through all that this world can throw at us, I want to be by your side. Darling, I feel the need to ask you again, so the moment may live in unreserved bliss: Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Loki. Absolutely yes. I can’t imagine living without you, either, and I never want to!”

Once again, he brought the ring to reside on your finger, and you kissed again. Though it was true that not everything was completely perfect, you felt safe and happy. You knew that with Loki, everything would be alright.

[seijuurouxryuu]

who are we in these unwanted skins

Title: who are we in these unwanted skins Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: G Pairing: Sasagawa Kyouko & Sawada Tsunayoshi Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: Roleswap AU | Platonic Cuddles Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning

Day 5: Rain Day

Her skin, doesn’t felt like her skin sometimes. Some days, it felt right as it should be, comfortable and her, but other days, she felt like she was an impostor, wearing someone else’s skin, stomping around in a body not hers.

Some days, she felt like she was alright, but other days, she felt like she should be another. 

AO3

Her skin, doesn't felt like her skin sometimes. Some days, it felt right as it should be, comfortable and hers, but other days, she felt like she was an impostor, wearing someone else’s skin, stomping around in a body not hers.

Some days, she felt like she was alright, but other days, she felt like she should be another.

And today was the day she felt weird. She—they—stared into the mirror, seeing themselves yet not, so familiar yet so foreign. They pulled at the dress that she would usually love and felt that it doesn't suit them. It made their skin itch and what they wanted to do was to peel it off their burning skin. It made them so uncomfortable, so aware of themselves. Weird. Out of place. They couldn't stand it.

They were aware that they were running late for their date with the other girls, but they couldn't help but stare longer at the mirror and their wardrobe, scanning again and again to see if there was anything that they can change into and let them feel alright. There was suits and all, of course, but they were all rather skin hugging and.... Girly. They felt that changing into anything else that is in their wardrobe wouldn't make them feel any better. It might make them feel worst.

They bit down on their lips hard.

Suddenly, their phone rang--thank god white and neutral, breaking them from their trance and almost panic episode. They hurriedly picked it up from their dressing table and finally—finally—turned away from the mirror.

"Hey! Sorry I got lost track of time. I'm coming over right now!" They turned off the lights and headed out, a mask of comfort in place.

.

The incident was soon forgotten as time passed. She soon returned to herself, distracted by her friends and life in general. It was as though a dream, now that she looked back on it. Like it was just her imagination, that it never existed.

At least, until it hit her again, harder.

They looked around their room, far too pastel, and felt uncomfortable all over. If it wasn't their room, they wouldn't feel anything but it was theirs. They are used to the pinkish orange wallpaper, so that was fine, but the dressing table, the wardrobe, the bed sheets—too pastel. It wasn't the furniture's fault as much as it was theirs, but they were out of their norm that they couldn't actually convince themselves that it was alright. Not to mention that they still couldn't find any clothes relatively suitable for them at the moment.

It was difficult.

They closed their eyes and sighed, lips trembling slightly. They would have to buy new clothes. At least, some that can be used when they have moments like this. (Yes, they acknowledged that they felt very weird some days and it just made them annoyed, unworthy and guilty.)

They sat up abruptly.

Picking up their phone and wallet, they checked their money and decided to pull out some more from their drawer that they saved from the previous allowances. Before they went out, they stopped and looked down at their clothes—a knee length shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Pondering for a while longer, they decided to steal Ryohei's hoodie and left.

.

As it was a weekend and they didn't want anyone who recognise them to know what they were doing in the shopping district, they pulled the hood over their head and scanned through all the boutiques. They avoided the normal boutique they frequent—those sells clothes that they didn't really desire at the moment anyway—and looked for more gender neutral or masculine ones.

They paused right in front of one, pretty small and unpopular one, that was probably going under. Which was understandable because those clothes looked old and ugly—if they were targeting young people anyway. But they found that they have a selection of plain shirts, sweaters and black jeans—long and short—that looked nice and acceptable. Not to mention that it was on sales.

Tugging the hood lower, they headed in and started browsing, picking up a few as they go. They didn't want to try it now so they just picked a size larger than they normally wear. It wasn't until they had more about 8 articles in their arm when the shop owner—or they presumed—appeared.

"W-welcome to the Goldmine. H-how can I help you?" Perhaps they were probably too zoned out mentally calculating their money and the cost, they couldn't recognize the voice and mumbled. "It's okay. I'll look through on my own."

Then silence.

Perhaps finally realizing that something was wrong, they looked up just in time for the worker to stutter incredulously. "K-kyoko-chan?"

They flinched so hard that they almost dropped everything on their hand. Their hands trembled as they tried to smile. "A-ah, Tsuna-kun!"

Tsuna tilted his head, blinking. He wasn't as nervous as he was before, and he was curious. And worried. Kyoko's face was pale and fearful, eyes darting anywhere but him. It wasn't like the Kyoko he knew—something was wrong.

"W-what are you doing here?" Kyoko asked first, a little skittish. Tsuna, bless his soul, decided not to question Kyoko (yet) and started complaining. "Well!" He sighed loudly as his shoulder sagged. "Reborn is the reason. He suddenly asked me to tend this run-down shop and tell me to hit /a week's/ target sale in one day!" He grumbled, ruffling his hair roughly.

"Worst, this isn't even his shop! He just—accidentally injured the owner and decided to leave me to clean up his own mess! It was bad enough that no even a fly would come in, how am I going to hit the target!"

If he could, he would've wailed until the whole world could hear.

Somehow, through his rant, Kyoko finally calmed down and laughed. "Well, that's Reborn alright."

"No shit..." Tsuna grumbled under his breath. Seeing that there weren't any other customers and that Kyoko was probably still slightly uncomfortable, he asked. "Do you want to.... Talk inside? You don't have to say anything you don't want though. I can just wrap things up for you while we have some tea."

Kyoko hesitated. They looked down at the pile in their arm and bit their lips. They were caught, and they didn't want to give up on their finding. Not when they finally managed to muster the courage to choose men's clothing. They knew Tsuna wouldn't tell anyone if they didn't want others to know, and that Tsuna wouldn't judge them, but this was a secret they had held for almost their whole life. It wasn't easy for them to finally talk about it.

They looked up and right into Tsuna's brown eyes again, honest and kind. Accepting. And they finally nodded. "Yeah. Why not."

Tsuna smiled and brought them to the back of the shop. Surprisingly, despite its closing down, small and rather cluttered appearance, the storeroom slash employees rest room was clean and comfy. Probably the only place maintained by the owner. There was a small round table, two chairs and one sofa.

At Tsuna's gesture, Kyoko sat on the sofa and placed the pile of clothes beside them, patting it absently while the other moved around the small room rather clumsily to make tea. Setting it down with the cookies he managed to find, Tsuna sighed and plopped onto one of the plastic chairs.

"Thank you for appearing. With you here, I have an excuse for slacking off."

Kyoko laughed awkwardly. They gingerly reached out to the cup of tea—printed with Kero the frog—and sipped it. Surprisingly, it was calming. "I won't save you from Reborn."

"Welp I guess I'll just die."

"I'll help with the burial though."

Tsuna sobbed. "Harsh!" Kyoko chuckled and munched on some cookies, which weren't as delicious as the ones they made (yes, their bakery is the best shut up).

Seeing Kyoko happy at his demise, however, brought relief to Tsuna. The face Kyoko was sporting was similar to the one in the future-that-never-is, and Tsuna had sworn not to do anything that will brought forth that kind of face to his beloved family anymore, even if it wasn't him who cause it. (A part of him just wanted to X-burner everything that hurt his family down to nothing but ashes, but more of him knew that that wasn't possible.)

Tsuna tilted his head and smiled, eyes warm. It almost made Kyoko flinch again, because they felt like they don't deserve receiving kindness from Tsuna. Not since they became friends, not since they rejected Tsuna—they don't feel anything else other than familial love for the new brother they found—and especially not since they were so ungrateful for what they have. (Their clothes, beautiful and lovely, yet revolting in moments like this. Their body, perfectly flawed yet just a skin they wore uncomfortably in times like this.)

They didn't know what was so amazing about them to be accepted by the kindest and sanest person they knew. It made them happy, yet it made them guilty for something that they can't control.

Kyoko shifted uncomfortably, still eating the pastry while thinking about what they should say. It was times like this that they were bad at small talks. Not that they ever were good at it though. "U-um, Tsuna-kun..." They managed to get out, wincing slightly at how high pitched their voice was. God, they wish that they could just control their voice like a machine. They coughed and continued.

"... Please help me keep today's meeting a secret..." They plead, not ready for even the slightest moment to tell anyone else they knew.

Tsuna nodded immediately. Bless his soul, he didn't even ask about what and just took it as everything. "Sure." He smiled, uncharacteristically calm and understanding. "Until you're ready."

Kyoko suddenly has a hunch that the boy, now eighteen, knew what they were hiding.

Kyoko let out a watery smile and muttered, "Thank you."

.

It was emotionally wrecking, that day with Tsuna. Of course, Tsuna held onto his promise and did not speak about it even after he was punished by Reborn for slacking of, or so Kyoko had heard. She was very grateful for that, yet she was very guilty of that.

"I'm sorry, Tsuna-kun. For..." She trailed off as they stood on the roof of Namimori High, third year and graduating with the college entrance exams in the horizon. There were only the two of them, with Tsuna sporting a large bump on his forehead for getting hit by Xanxus who came to visit. (It was already a miracle that Xanxus came to visit, let alone not kill him.)

"Oh, it was nothing." He grinned, as though it never bothered him. That only made her even more guilty. She couldn't hold it any longer—especially not when the previous time marked such a huge scar in her heart. (Not the boutique encounter, but the one time she met Tsuna, Gokudera and Yamamoto outside again, except that her hair was tied into a tight bun and her clothes were the opposite of what she would where. Gokudera and Yamamoto had questioned her from heaven to hell since they were both curious and worried, and it was Tsuna who saved her out of it. It earned Tsuna a lot of troubles, trying to find excuse for her.)

Steeling her heart, she decided to talk about it. Tsuna wouldn't judge her. He never had, and he never will. Nodding to herself and taking a deep breath, she called out. "Tsuna-kun!"

Tsuna jolted, but kept quiet as she started rambling. "T-the thing is, there are days that I don't feel like--like me. Those days I hate the girly stuffs I own, and I hate- hate this body. I hate the world in those days and everything just makes me uncomfortable. I know I shouldn't feel that way and it doesn't make sense but I- I just don't feel like myself.

"I hate the fact that I am a girl then, and I just don't feel like anyone normal. I-" She sobbed, unaware that she had started crying during her vent. "I just wanted to be normal... That's why I tried... Wanted to have clothes that don't make me feel like a girl...

"I know this is selfish of me... I should just accept myself as who I am and appreciate everything I have, but I couldn't help it. I—" She choked. All the pain she harbored, all the guilt and sorrow she bottled, all overflowed out of the small cage she locked them in.

"I-I'm sorry..." She didn't dare to look up, not wanting to see Tsuna's face. She was afraid, afraid that she wouldn't be accepted. If she wasn't, she wouldn't blame Tsuna. Not when the boy remained her friend even after rejecting his feelings for her. (She never understood love other than the one she had with her family.)

Her hands trembled, sweating as she clutched them together tightly. She realized that she was afraid of losing this precious friend of hers.

Tsuna was silent for a long time, and just when she started to regret everything, Tsuna asked. "Can I hold you?"

Kyoko was so surprised by the question and looked up. Something, probably relief, swelled in her as she saw the smile, kind and accepting smile, on Tsuna's face. He reached out to her at her tiny nod, and hugged her tightly. He gently tucked her face onto his shoulder, calming her as he rubbed her head. "Sister mine," Her heart beat in delight at that. "First of all, don't apologize for what you feel.

"Don't apologize for who you are. You are you, you are just fine the way you are." He said softly as he cradled her. "Girl, boy, none, all, it doesn't matter. As long as you remain true to yourself, accept yourself, then it is all alright. I don't mind what you define yourself as, as long as it is not self-depreciation. And I'm sure no one else mind. If anyone does, then you are better off without them."

Kyoko sobbed louder, feeling liberated. "Thank you, Kyoko, for telling me. It must have been hard... I'm sorry that you have to suffer."

Kyoko shook her head, only for him to hush her more. “It’s fine if you aren’t ready to tell others—I’ll keep it a secret between the two of us. Only, you don’t have to hide from me anymore, okay?”

“D-don’t you think it’s… Weird?” Kyoko silently asked, a little afraid.

“Not really.” Tsuna said, then paused for a moment with his lips pursed. He was contemplating whether to tell Kyoko of his own secret. He trusts Kyoko, obviously, but he didn’t know whether it was okay to tell her. In the end, he decided that she was okay to know. He would carry the consequences later.

“… Actually—I’m a pan.” Kyoko blinked in surprise.

“You’re a cooking pan?”

“Wha—no! I mean—I’m pansexual.” Kyoko blinked again, flushing when understanding dawned her. “Oh.” She was glad that she currently had her face on his chest that he couldn’t see how red in shame she was.

“Yeah. But that’s mostly because I’m not really sure of my gender sometimes too… I might be a genderfluid, but I still haven’t properly settled on it yet… Which is why I said pan—because I’m more attracted to males.”

Kyoko jolted out of his arms and looked at him in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay to tell me all that?”

Tsuna smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, why not? It’s not exactly a secret actually. I just never told you guys.”

Kyoko was a little unhinged by how carefree Tsuna was with that. She had always been tormented by herself that she couldn’t understand how easily he accepted all that. “I…” Kyoko felt a little stupid and weird.

Tsuna reached out and patted her head. “Hey, I’m fine telling you because I know you will accept me regardless of how I am. I know the others will too. I just haven’t said anything because…” He trailed off before changing the subject. “I know it can be scary, to tell your loved ones who you truly are. After all, who knows how they will react. But Kyoko, we’re your friends—family—we will accept you for who you are, just as how you accepted us for who we are.”

Kyoko nodded as he continued. “You can take your time telling others. Do it whenever you are ready—but remember that we will love you still.”

She teared up a little and nodded again, smiling as she rubbed her eyes. “Yeah—thank you.” She sounded a little choked up, but relief was in her voice. “Thank you, Tsuna-kun.”

Tsuna hugged her again. “Anytime, sister. Anytime.”

If Gokudera and Yamamoto noticed how crumpled Tsuna’s shirt and how puffy Kyoko’s eyes were, they said nothing.

.

“Say, is the person who sexually awakened you Xanxus?”

Tsuna choked on his chips and coughed so hard that he almost dislodged Kyoko, who was lying on top of him reading his manga. They smirked as Tsuna turned red from the sentence (and the chips).

“I knew it.”

“S-cough-stop!”

-------------------

A/N= 

I've nothing to say :3c Happy reading.

Also yes, I did not edit it so I died like Byakuran COUGH

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[talldarkandroguesome]

38th Entry in Coldharbour

The Bosmer stayed true to her word and took us to a stone door. It was ancient looking. She said it was a secret tunnel into the tower that she had known of, but never dared to enter. Her people warned her that those who went in never returned and she had known some who thought the stories were only that. Never were they heard of again.

So we knew this was going to be an easy quest after that. Ha!

The Bosmer was apprehensive about entering, which meant I was even more uncertain if she were leading us into a trap. But as always, what choice had we? The Groundskeeper said that this King was going to be of great use to us and if our previous ventures proved anything, then there would be yet another light somewhere within this tower.

We pushed the ancient stone door aside and found a dark tunnel. We carefully made our way forward until a light shone bright around a curve. The tunnel opened up as we entered the next chamber and there stood a collosal tree. At its base, tangled amongst the roots, was a skeleton. In the skeleton’s arms it clutched a crystal that shone with bright light. We knew that it was one of Meridia’s Lights. There was no mistaking the shape or warm glow.

Unfortunately, the roots of the tree had wrapped themselves fiercely around both the skeleton and the Light. We had to hack at it with weapons and I used my flames to burn at the roots. We all were sore in the shoulders from swinging our blades over and over again into the thick bark.

At last we were able to pry it free. We handed it to Jessmyn. I told her that likely it would come of great use. At least, if any of our other ventures were any indication.

As we headed up the stairs, a glowing purple image, of what at first appeared to be an Altmer, materialized before us. But it was no Altmer. It was the Ayeleid King. He explained how glad he was we had the crystal and that we would need it to free him from this prison.

Most interestingly, he explained that Meridia had foretold of our freeing him. He seemed to be an advent follower of hers and to have spoken with her directly at some point. That is a very great honor indeed and I could see why the Groundskeeper would find him valuable. And I knew he must be quite powerful. To be held for centuries in such a place and still be able to project yourself to seek freedom, that is not small feat.

We asked the King how we could free him and he explained that Molag Bal feared him and thus trapped him in a pillar of pure darkness, powered by the Light of Meridia. That this was the weak point of Molag Bal’s plan, for the Lights can dispel Molag Bal’s darkness as well. It made sense then why we could use them to get rid of the illusions before. They were darkness, which the Lights of Meridia could shine through. That once we gathered up the crystals that locked the prison door, we could free him.

With that knowledge, we headed down the corridor. As we raced around the corners, Tel pulled up ahead. When they reached a door, they pushed it open and then froze for a moment. We all stopped, waiting to see what danger was in store, only to have Tel level a shot in our direction. The Bosmer and I, who were closest behind, were able to dodge out of the way easily.

That is when we realized, Tel had come under one of the enchantments. I did the first thing I could think of, I teleported right in front of Tel and gave him the Lover’s Kiss. Their body locked up and I guided them to the ground. I felt the was of exhaustion that comes with using the blessing of my sign. So I sat down besides Tel’s paralyzed form and suggested we do something to keep Tel from attacking us.

Jessmyn took out some rope and we got a bit out of Tel’s pack as well. The three of us tied Tel up tight enough they could not get out, without doing any harm to their body. We waited to see if the enchantment might wear off since only Tel has the spells necessary to calm someone.

As soon as the paralysis wore off though, Tel began yelling insults and sent a cliff strider flying in our direction and I had to kiss him again. Jessmyn suggested we go out of their line of sight in order to keep from getting attacked directly by Tel’s at-will magicka.

So we all headed down the corridor, just out of view of Tel where they could not send anything at us because they could no longer see where we were precisely. 

The whole time we walked away, Tel began shouting that we were cowards, unworthy, deserved this or that. We tried to ignore it on account of the enchantment, but Tel began to get very personal in their insults.

To the Bosmer they called them a traitor and said we could never trust her if she was willing to betray her own family.

Jessmyn he said that no one would ever want to be around her because she had no emotions and an inability to be friendly with others. That her walls would ensure she was alone the rest of her life.

They started calling me a liar, saying I had no respect for their boundaries, that they could not believe that they had forgiven me for what I had made them do. I could see how worried Jessmyn was looking. I tried to give her a look to say that this was just the spell bringing out nastiness, but Tel only kept digging deeper.

They said I was paranoid, that I was a bad friend who only cared about my problems, totally selfish. That they did so much for me and this was how I repaid them?I brushed it off. This was just the enchantment, after all.

Tel said he did not know how I had any friends at all. They did not know Avon could stand me. How Qau-dar could have stood by my side and married me.

Those hurt. they hurt a lot. I got a flash of Ervis’ face as they said how much they hated me, how I had ruined his life. And yet the look of betrayal on his face when I dodged his blade aimed at my heart and pierced his instead.

I ground my teeth. It was just the spell. That was all.

Tel screamed that I was impulsive and irresponsible and unable to stop myself from dying and that I had no business taking care of a child because there was no way I could be fit for such a task. That they hated me and wished I would just die already.

I could take it no longer. I teleported into the room, dodged the cliff strider, and kissed Tel again. Then I yelled for the others to bring something to gag Tel with.

We got Tel gagged and we left them alone again. You can still hear the muffled angry cries. At least the words are cut off.

I explained to Jessmyn that a lot had happened since Tel and I knew one another. Some things happened under the influence of vampiric thrall. That we had a period of figuring out what one another needed in a friendship. And that most of this was the enchantment twisting the misunderstandings of earlier into daggers to wound my heart.

She seemed... mostly to accept my words. I am sure when the spell wears off Tel can explain things for themself and we can straighten it all out.

I only hope this spell can wear off. Otherwise I might just kill Tel to break it.

[sauzwriting]

dark before the dawn

Dimitri won't get a break from his nightmares. Fear and guilt haunt him during the night. He hasn't slept in days.

But Dedue is back now. He understands him better than anyone, so he won't let the prince wither in the dark of his mind.

Pairing: Dimitri/Dedue

Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, self-hatred, healing, light angst

Warnings: blue lions spoilers

ao3

In dark halls, cold stone walls had been painted red.

Already used to the darkness, Dimitri's eyes were locked on the person standing next to him. Not too far behind, the metallic echoes of armor reached their ears, screams tearing at angry, desperate throats. He could hear the footsteps approaching them, somehow following the rhythm of his own nervous and rapid heart beating.

Dedue walked towards the sound, firmly holding an axe in his battered hands. Barely holding up— panting heavily, Dimitri slowly turned around, so he could look at his companion, tell him to run away with him. He now was, after all, the only glimmer of hope in his so-called life. Maybe if they escaped together, maybe the voices echoing in his mind would go quiet.

The metallic clashing of weapons hit Dimitri's ears harshly and very closely, sparks flying through the air. Weakly, his thoughts vanished as he slowly blinked, fighting his weary state. He saw Dedue in front of him, repelling swift attacks of many soldiers. Swords flying at him, shining in the dusk, sinking into dark skin. Dedue's blood, running through the blinding silver of imperial blades. It was now his friend's blood the one painting the cold stone walls.

All of his strenght seemed to come back in a sudden rush. The blond prince held his lance, raised it up and ran towards his enemies. He opened his mouth and let out an almost inhuman shriek, filled with anger and pain. Time seemed to slow down around Dimitri as he slashed through the imperials, his lance completely stained red and his thundering voice clawing at the hearts of his enemies, resonating throughout the dungeon halls.

His vision had gone blurry and dizzy, tinted red.

Once he came back to reality, he was breathless, standing over a pile of lifeless bodies, bloodied and indistinguishable. Looking at the floor, he heard footsteps slowly approaching him and sighed. Dimitri opened his mouth to speak, throat hurting. Yet, it was not his own voice the one he heard.

“Your Highness!”

It all happened in barely a second. Dimitri, shaken, looked up to see a trembling soldier swinging his blade at him. The rush was over, however, and his body was back to being weary and tired, heavy on his lance, supporting him where he stood. The prince couldn't find the strenght to move, nor was his body responding.

Blood splashing beneath feet, it was just in an instant that Dedue ran to his aid, fiercely stopping the blow with his own body. In just an instant, blade and axe crossed their paths, finding a way into vulnerable skin, plunging into its warmth, sinking deeply; blood flowing.

The imperial soldier, already badly injured, fell to the floor. But so did Dedue.

Dimitri desperately let go of his lance and ran to Dedue. Staining his cold, trembling hands with warm blood, he held his body in his arms. The sword had cut through his chest.

He had hoped to hear some last words, a whisper: anything, to prove he still breathed. But the hallway fell silent as the warmth of Dedue's body gradually faded.

“It is their fate” A ghost whispered into his ear, cunningly.

Icy cold caressed his cheeks, covered with washed up blood.

“To die for you.”

“For you to avenge us.”

“It is the price you must pay to live.”

Words echoed in his mind and crawled into his heart, nesting into the deepest part of his being.

It had been their home all along, after all.

* * *

Dimitri woke up in a cold sweat, almost breathless.

He blinked, realizing where he was. His body was cold, lying on soft sheets, a familiar bed bathed under the gentle moonlight. Trembling hands reached for his wet cheeks, wiping away tears he didn't know he'd cried.

Despite all these years, despite everything that had happened, this room had remained almost identical. It knew nothing of the passage of time, knew nothing of how twisted the heart of the one who used to live there had finally become.

Breathing in and out, Dimitri closed his eye, trying to calm his heart and himself. Trying to forget the images that invaded his mind, ready to come back unnanounced. He tried to bask in the silence, for once.

He knew, however, it wouldn't work. He disliked being alone. Mostly, because during all these years, he never truly felt like he was alone. Haunted by ghosts, haunted by his guilt. Haunted by death itself. Dimitri could barely remember how standing still, in silence, enjoying solitude, actually felt.

He didn't want to be alone.

But after everything he had done, even all those things he couldn't recall; memories corrupted by blood and empty words of revenge, the prince didn't believe he was worthy of sympathy or affection.

So, unable to escape his own quivering thoughts and unable to lull himself back to sleep, afraid of what his own mind would put him through, Dimitri decided to go alone for a walk at night.

Bare feet gently slipped through the silent floor of the monastery, drifting down ancient stairs. Dimitri went out to the courtyard, fresh air running through his messy hair, rustling through dark leaves, disrupting the placid silence of the night. It was cold outside, but the prince didn't seem to care.

Looking up at the sky, he met the stars once again. Just like his old room, they remained unchanged. The sky remained ethereal and timeless, always looking down on them, witness to so much madness and tragedy. The same sky, the same white clouds he used to watch, calmly dancing on a blue canvas, projecting kind shadows over his face.

They were still here, kinder as ever.

Back in those days, they all looked up to the same sight, completely oblivious of what their future would bring. He wondered, for a moment, if his old classmates still looked up at the old stars and clouds, their eyes glimmering with a different light now. The prince smiled bitterly at the thought.

“Your Highness?”

A deep but gentle voice spoke, startling Dimitri. Turning back to the familiar sound, he met Dedue's worried face. He thought his heart had stopped for a moment, vision blurrying and fading to black, images from his wretched mind creeping into reality. Dedue's voice was soft, caring, genuine. Breathing into the cold of the night, travelling through the chilly air. He was right there, in front of him. Teal eyes and snowy hair, dimly glowing under the moonlight.

And yet, Dimitri could barely believe the man standing before him was not a ghost, joining the others, fated to live inside his shadow.

“It is late and cold,” Dedue looked at the sky while he spoke, words lingering on his mouth as he slowly turned to Dimitri “is everything alright?”

“I—“ The prince stuttered over his own words. “I apologize. Do not worry about me, Dedue. I was—I was just taking a walk, since I couldn't fall asleep.”

Dimitri tried, he tried so hard to keep his voice steady, but words came out weakly and shaky, his lips twitching. “How are you faring, Dedue? It has...” his voice cracked. “War has not been kind to any of us.”

“I could not sleep either. ” Dedue's voice still felt so unreal. “It has...not been easy, Your Highness. I won't lie.”

After Rodrigue's death, Dimitri had crumbled down. Guilt washing over him and stopping him right in his tracks. He didn't take care of his own life over the last five years and now; now, he felt unworthy of holding onto it. The prince had bathed in loneliness for far too long, after so many abandoned him to join the haunting choir in his nightmares.

But Dedue was here now: he'd come back to him, back from the dead. He gazed at what Dimitri had become, and the prince felt ashamed of his own existence, ashamed that such kind eyes looked at him; scrapped, broken, savage. Dimitri could barely look back. He would see the scars he got from protecting him, the scars that stained dark skin, just like blood had stained kind, caring hands.

It was his fault.

“It has been hard watching you,” Dedue gently whispered. “Suffering from a weight that should have never been yours to bear.”

Dimitri frowned in frustration as festered hatred stabbed his heart. He looked down, a dark shadow hovering over a melancholic grin.

“I do not deserve such words, Dedue.”

“I hurt you. I made you fight for me. For a beast like me.” He spit out his words, bitterly.

Dedue's eyes were now on him. But Dimitri couldn't muster the strenght to face him. Not like this.

“I chose to fight,” Dedue's voice was firm, “and I would do it again, if it meant keeping you from harm.”

“I...I am not worth fighting for,” Dimitri could just let out a weak laugh. “I am but a fool who toyed with others' lives. I spoke of revenge but I—I'm the first one that murders the ones I love. Making—Making them fight for me, for my foolish cause, for my recklessness.” The wind shook the leaves over their heads, the prince's disheveled hair flowing in the air. “I am but a monster who takes from others.”

Silence fell between the two as Dimitri slowly started to regret the words that came out of his mouth. He bit his lip and swallowed.

“Dedue, I'm sorr—“

“Dimitri.”

A loud heart beat resonated inside Dimitri's chest and, suddenly, a warm hand softly caressed his cheek.

“Please, look at me.”

Dimitri breathed in and looked back at last, feeling his own eyes growing watery once his quivering gaze met Dedue's tranquil eyes. Swimming deep into pale green, he saw tenderness, care and worry.

How could someone look at him like that? Dimitri felt the urge to look away, knowing there was possibly no way he deserved such treatment, and yet he found himself unable to muster the strenght to look away from such sincere gaze.

“You are nothing of the sort.” Dedue moved his hand away from Dimitri's face, realizing the meaning of his own action and took a deep breath. “I only wish I could have found you sooner. I...” He swallowed. “I wish I could have been there for you. So many moons...spent alone, wondering if you were even alive.” His voice trembled a bit and so did his lips. “You are a kind man, Dimitri. I am sure of that. Your heart has always proven it to me.”

Dedue's voice echoed through Dimitri's head. Right in front of him, facing him, with a gentle face and a warm soul, was the man who had always been by his side. Speaking compassionate words, as he'd always done. Speaking his name, in soft and caring whispers, giving him his humanity back with just mere words. Something he had always wished, something he now dared not to desire.

Dedue's heart had not changed in the past five years. And yet Dimitri was afraid that nothing of this could be real. His eyes, invaded by visions dirty with blood and death, his own pitiful screams, clawing at his mind. Vivid memories of crimson fingers holding cold, dead hands.

Guilt.

“I—“ Dimitri tried to speak but he choked on his own voice, holding back a sob as silent tears rolled down his face, tasting salty on his dry lips. He tried to hide his face behind his hands, cold and calloused. “I abandoned you, Dedue. I—I lived, all these years...thinking you'd died. Knowing it had been my fault.” The prince hid his mouth, biting his lips so he would stop shedding more tears.

He felt pathetic.

“Every single night, I—I saw you die in my dreams. It had turned into a memory. So now...those words, your voice, your eyes, how you speak of me; it looks closer to a dream than what I had grown used to. It...feels so feeble,” his voice was now turning into a weak whisper, his vision going blurry, his head dizzy, “I want these nightmares to end. I want you to be here. Please, tell me you are real. Please, tell me I didn't kill you. Please...I—I can't lose anyone again. I can't lose you.”

Shame bubbled up on the prince's heart as his mind started to give in to the effects of many sleepless nights and a wounded body. His voice died down on his lips and his legs went weak, the world seemed to go black as it started spinning around him. Dimitri blinked repeteadly, trying to keep his balance, seeing his warm breath floating through the air.

The headache that had been pursuing him for weeks grew unbearable, every single noise of the apparent silent night thundering into his ears, echoing in his skull. Even his own voice, a miserable sound, echoed along the rest of them.

Suddenly, two strong hands were holding him, keeping him up, despite all the trembling.

“Your Highness...you're shivering.” Suddenly, one of those hands gently touched his cheek, caressing his face carefully, reaching his forehead. “You're burning...”

“Your Highness?”

All weight left the prince's body and, finally, the silence washed away all the turmoil rampaging in his head.

“...Dimitri?”

***

His eye hurt when he tried to open it.

Still feeling a heavy weight on his chest and head, ghostly tears covering his pale skin, Dimitri finally woke up.

As he weakly gazed to the ceiling, he realized he was back into his quarters. A sharp pain struck his head when he tried to sit up in the darkness of the room, bleak silence visting him, just like every other night.

This time, however, he wasn't alone.

“How are you feeling?” A voice broke through the suffocating air that clouded the prince's mind.

Faint light, intruding the room from the window, fell on Dedue, softening his figure and face. Resting by his bed, he was sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair, wearing a serene expression on his face, one that seemed to soothe the prince's heart, if only for a little while. The sight almost seemed ethereal and so, Dimitri wondered if maybe he was dreaming again.

But it had been ages since he'd had a pleasant night.

“You fainted. I was worried so I took you to your room. Please, you need to rest,” his tone turned kind, “I will stay here if you need it.”

Dimitri vaguely remembered being carried to his room, being held, embraced in his arms while sinking into a weary sleep. His face softened as he looked at Dedue, his heart warm at the memory.

“Thank you, Dedue. I...” He swallowed and looked down. “You have always been there for me. You always take care of me...no matter how small the problem might be.”

“Of course.”

“But...” Dimitri shifted on the bed, so he could face Dedue, his naked feet brushing the cold floor of the room, “you don't have to do it, Dedue. It is not a duty, nor an obligation,” He felt tired, his voice wasn't steady either. It was hard, putting this all into words. He feared the truth behind something he believed to be affection. Something he so desperately wanted.

“You don't owe me anything. It is I the one who is indebted to you. You saved me. You risked your life for mine. And yet, after all that, I threw it into the abyss, wasting it away. It was cruel of me.” Dimitri took a deep breath, his throat dry. He was afraid, that much was true. Still, he knew this had to be done.

“I could not bear it if anything happened to you in...this senseless war. Your life is your own, Dedue. Please do not dedicate it entirely to me. I do not deserve it and...and you are as important as I am. Protect yourself first. Choose a life that will fullfil your heart. You are a person, not my vassal.” Despite the pain he was trying to hide, Dimitri fondly smiled and, after doubting for a moment, he reached for Dedue's hand, warm at the touch, calloused from work and battle. He held it as he spoke. “You are my friend, Dedue. It doesn't matter who I am in this kingdom. You...are very important to me. So...”

“I will not leave.” Dedue had been listening quietly, never letting go of Dimitri's hand. He softly squeezed it, voice hushed into a kind, intimate whisper. Dedue leaned in closer, the faint light of morning bathing in his eyes, clear and wise. Tender words brushing against Dimitri's skin. “I am here with you. Not out of duty. Not out of debt,” a nostalgic smile crossed his face, “at least, not anymore.”

The room fell silent, only their steady breathing flying through the air, heartbeats beating, together, to a similar ryththm.

“I spent a lot of time with my people during these past years. It made me happy. I...learned a lot. But,” Dimitri shivered as Dedue placed a hand on his hair, slowly tucking it behind his ear. There was doubt in the touch, but Dimitri didn't move an inch. “I somehow knew my place was not with them. I wanted to search for you, to find you. I wanted to be by your side and protect you.” He breathed in. “ Not just as a vassal.”

Dimitri closed his eye, heart beating loudly in his chest, wondering if it was okay for him to want this.

“Is it okay?”, he asked. “I want you to be happy. And I...I can't make you happy. I am too broken for that.” Dimitri furrowed his brow, trying to hold back a sob. Dedue sat there for a short while, looking at Dimitri, feeling the hurt, the hatred in his words.

Not daring to open his eye, Dimitri waited. He waited, to wake up, getting back to the reality he deserved, back into a cycle of sleepless nights that would slowly eat up his head. But he remained there, in silence, still feeling the warmth of Dedue's hand over his own.

He heard Dedue move, and then he felt a gentle hand caressing his face. Fingers carefully running through the scar of his right eye, as if the touch could heal the past.

“I am happy.” Dedue suddenly whispered. “To know that you are alive.” The prince opened his eye, locking his gaze with Dedue's. Warmth ran through his body as his heartbeat grew faster, as he started to feel like, maybe, he was alive. “I will fight, so none of us die. So we can live in a world you promised to build, a world where Duscur and Faerghus will be at peace.” He slowly placed his hand on his matted hair, moving some strands away from his face and eye. “I wish to see that new dawn by your side, Dimitri.”

Dedue was now holding both of his hands, with utmost care, just like he'd always tended to the flowers from the greenhouse. Dimitri smiled, his lips trembling and his eyes watery.

There were small, precious things like this that still reminded the prince about a past where, despite the shadows, the skies were clear. Seeing the man he had always cared about, in front of him, he thought that, perhaps, the past hadn't been lost under the debris of the war yet.

[eirenare]

TROS Reylo fic: “Rey of Jakku”

Okay, so...

To kriff with all my nervousness and anxiety over sharing some of my creative stuff, I haven’t come as far as to actually plan the plot of a long fanfic (when I’ve always had trouble to finish/do even basic stuff) to feel negative about it—my excitement and pride shouldn’t be clouded with that, so yeah, buckle up dear anxiety of mine because I'm in charge tonight

Here’s the current (and probably fixed to stay like this) line-up of chapters + summary phrases from my TROS-speculative soon to be AU, Reylo-centric fic, “Rey of Jakku” (WARNING: heavy SPOILERS for the story, though, on most of the summary phrases):

“Rey of Jakku”

Posted on: for now only on Archive of Our Own (Ao3) (link on the fic name above)

Rating: Mature (might jump to Explicit)

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Major character death

Relationships: Reylo, Finnrose, Stormpilot/Finnpoe (unrequited because yeah as much as I love both ships I’m just a big drama queen, sorry Poe)

Genre tags: angst, angst and hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, temporary character death, angst with happy ending

Theme tags: Reylo-centric, Rey-centric, Ben-centric, Force bond, Force visions, holocrons, Sith holocron, Jedi holocron, Force levitation/flying, resurrection, spooky Palpatine, Dark Rey/Darth Rey, Throne of Balance, Force choking, World Between Worlds, Mortis, Force lightning

Chapter count as of today: 1/10

PART I (uploaded)

1. In Batuu / Building bonds

2. A vision and a disturbance

3. Fleeing from Batuu

4. A glimpse at you

5. To consume oneself / All-consuming darkness / Darkness all-consuming

PART II (update scheduled for this week)

6. Recovery / Visions of the past / Bakura

7. “Together” / Ahch-To / Search / Dagger / Whispers of Legends

8. Kef Bir / Riders of the moon / Reaching the Death Star

9. The scavenger / The Sith holocron / A disturbance in the Force / Here yet not here / Running away / Duel / Crossed sabers, crossed hearts / Heartbeat (breathe)

10. In too deep / The price of failure / Show me the powers of the dark once more

PART III

11. The waiting game / The Sith holocron / Bonding / The girl and the droid / The light in him

12. Kijimi / The plan / Seeking allies / The last night

13. The copy / Invasion / Display of might / A change of heart (smugglers divided)

14. Opening the holocron / Cracking

15. What the holocron hid

PART IV

16. Lando / The pieces of a puzzle / Fusion / More than a dream

17. Contact / The lingering longing / Learning each other / To dance across the stars

18. Suspicions / Truce

19. The temple of Pasaana

20. Secret meeting / Leap of faith / Trust fall

PART V

21. The Jedi holocron

22. Ambush / Fleeing once more / Unlikely allies / “Now you follow her (orders)” / To relinquish leadership

23. Rebellion / Clash / Unworthy / The rise of red

24. Contact failed

25. What lurks in the dark / The shadow we freed / Possession / A warning call / Laying the bait

PART VI

26. The Master Puppeteer’s prisoner / Pain across the stars / (A bond) bared (for all to see) / Closed off from the Force / Ben

27. Taking the bait / “The Eclipse”

28. (A bond) severed / A hopeless fight / To bargain with the devil / Exchange / Safe (in the Resistance)

29. Far away / Allies and enemies

30. Learning and re-learning / A forgotten box / The same eyes / An ancient bond / Split / The First and the Force

PART VII

31. Call to arms / Hope for the people (Luke’s heritage)

32. The Master Puppeteer’s shadow / The shadow’s fight

33. “Mind Walk” / Sinking, rising / Truths and discoveries / The call of the kyber

34. The Throne of Balance

35. Isolation / Fractured / Bleeding / A shadow’s mask (a tool in black and red)

PART VIII

36. To beckon the light to the darkness / “The Force will be with you”, “always”

37. Identity / Who I (really) am / Merciless

38. Chasing ghosts (of the past) / Assembled forces / Ring (unrequited) / “Force Storm” / The Red Fleet / Insurrection / “A thousand armies won’t stop me (I’ll break through)”

39. Ritual / Open the door

40. Broken ritual / The last duel / “He is mine” / Mirror (their blood running through his veins) / “Please”

PART IX

41. “When the sun sets we’re both the same (half in the shadows, half burnt in flames)” / The Master Puppeteer’s charade / Passage

42. A world between worlds / Like a black hole / “Let the past die...” (embrace) / “But I do (and I see you for who you are)” / The door to Mortis

43. What we brought into this world / Mortis, rotten (otherworldly guide) / “Confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi” (lessons from the past) / “Who wields the dagger...” / Rey and Rey / “... kill it, if you have to” (mask) / “We’ve passed down all we know—a thousand generations live in you now—but this is your fight” / The parts that makes us whole (acceptance)

44. Throne / The tainted Force (life and death) / The fight for the Force / He who controls light and darkness (blade) / What we are, who we are / As one we strike (eclipse) / “Force Rage” / “Rey of Jakku” / Sacrifice (their blood spilling from his veins) / Checkmate / The setting moons

45. A clash of minds / “Dark Transfer” / Mortis, fading / “A light that never comes”

PART X

46. In light, life / (A bond) mended / Mortis, in bloom

47. (We are) balance / To choose / A Force anew / Renewal

48. Wreckage / The hope to live / Unlikely saviors (their knights)

49. Binary sunrise / Home

50. Epilogue: gray

[heartachesbutinagoodway-blog]

Goodbye.

YOU SUCK. I hate you. You were supposed to love me no matter how fucked up I am. You were supposed to mean it when you said you couldn’t imagine your life without me. Why am I the only one who actually meant it? Why am I the one who is still alone and unable to move on? Stuck in the past. Longing for someone who doesn’t even check in once a year to see that I’m alright.

Or do you? Do you think about me just as often as I think about you? Luckily, it’s not daily anymore. But I’d still guess that you cross my mind a couple days a weeks. Not always in a “I miss you” way. But sometimes just in like a “this reminds me of that time when we” or “I wish I could share this with him” or  “I’d be interested in hearing his perspective on this”

Do you hate me that much that you have no interest in knowing anything new about me? Or do you love me that much that you can’t handle knowing anything new about me? Or do you just literally not care about me at all? Was I just a thing of your past that you’ve moved on from and don’t think twice about anymore? I don’t know which of the three situations would be the worst. They all suck. What would be the best? Probably you wanting to be friends. Like not best friends who talk all the time, but like friendly enough that I don’t have to stop myself if I want to reach out every once in a while. Or like friendly enough where we can wish each other happy birthday. Like come on. We both know you know when my birthday is and I know when your birthday is. Nov 29th. But I stopped texting you happy birthday because you went two years without wishing me a happy birthday so… Is that petty? Maybe. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s me being respectful. Trying to give you your space to move on. Being selfless and letting you move on with your life like I wish I could do with mine.

And don’t get me wrong. In many ways I have moved on with my life. I’m no where near the same person that I was when we were last in each other’s lives. I’m Ms. L now. I have different interests and hobbies. I smoke weed like 6/7 days a week. I haven’t had sex in over a year, which you wouldn’t know as a big deal because when we were in each other’s lives you were the only person I had ever slept with. But I’ve been around the block since you cut me out of your life.

Am I being unfair? I mean I was the one who cheated on you. I was the one who didn’t want the relationship at the time. Who wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. Who honestly still is not ready to be in a relationship. Because trust me I’ve tried. I even went on dates with two guys from an app. Not out of desperation. As a true demonstration of the commitment I tried to make to putting myself out there again. But yet, here I am. In my room. Writing letters to you that I’ll never send. Wasting my youth away pining after a man who doesn’t exist anymore, just like the old me doesn’t exist anymore either.

But that man I’m pining after… Wow. He made me feel like the sexiest woman in the world. He made me feel like I mattered. Like I was irreplaceable. Like even the darkest parts of me were loved. Like I could end up like one of those old couples who still hold hands and smile at each other with the deepest and truest love in their  eyes. He made me feel like I could fly…

Well, when things were good. He also made me feel like I had no control. Like my heart was shattering into a million pieces. Like real love can never last. Like I’m impossible to be with. Like I’m unworthy of love.

And as much as I try to deconstruct those feelings. To remind myself of my worth as a daughter of God. (Yes some things about me are the same) I still idolize you. Like your love determines my worth. That’s scary. That needs to be unpacked. I need a therapist.

But who doesn’t need a therapist? Everyone’s fucked up. But here’s the thing. YOU PROMISED TO LOVE ME REGARDLESS. I didn’t make you promise. You didn’t have to chase me around my goddamn room keeping me from hurting myself if you didn’t promise me that. I claimed my independence. With pride. You were the one who begged me to let you in. To love you deeply. And by beg, I don’t mean to emasculate you. I mean you were ready to love and be loved. You knew what you wanted, and you always get what you want if you go after it. You had me in the palm of your hand the second that you locked eyes with me in gym class. There is nothing in this world you can’t get. And I think in many ways I tried to fight it for that reason. I would be the one thing that you couldn’t just have because you wanted.

But then I learned that you didn’t really get everything you wanted. You lost some things that you really wanted. You experienced so much pain because of the things you wanted that you couldn’t have. Maybe that pain was so grand because you weren’t used to being told no. You grew up learning at a young age that you could have anything you wanted if you worked hard enough for it. I mean everyone is told that from a young age. But it was true for you. Your dad may have been entitled to it, but your mom worked her ass off for it. When I say entitled, I don’t mean to offend. I’m just speaking the truth. As a white man in America he gets the American dream. I know he worked hard and I know he’s a great man. But there are so many other people who also work hard and who are also great, but the American dream was never supposed to be a reality for them. That’s a tangent. I’ll probably delete it. Actually why would I? Why should I filter myself? I don’t even have anymore mal intent. Sure I started this off with “I hate you” but come on. We both know I wouldn’t be writing this if that was true. I’m just being honest. I’m just putting it all out there. Because I don’t do it enough. First I let it simmer. Then I start to boil. And then I self-destruct. Obliterating everyone who loves me along the way. (More things about me that haven’t changed)

Will I ever be able to change? You make me feel like the answer is no. I mean that’s not even fair to put on you. If I could change, wouldn’t I have done it by now? I mean I’m a fucking hard ass worker. I always have been. Although maybe you don’t think that because you work even harder than me, but everyone else in my life thinks that… Why haven’t I been able to change myself? Be more honest about my feelings. Share when I’m feeling neglected, alone, worthless. Because those are the reasons why I self-destruct. I’ve worked on myself enough to know that it’s trauma. From my dad dying. From my mom’s best attempt to raise three young children on her own. From insecurities that I’m socialized to hide instead of talk about. Even hide from people who love me because well, those people who love you and who you love back, they are the ones who really have the power to fuck you up. People who promise to love you no matter what and then change their mind.

Of course, I gave them a reason to change their mind, but maybe I did so as a sick way of protecting myself. Instead of making myself vulnerable and risk getting hurt, let me just destine myself to the pain. At least I have control right? Self-destruction at it’s finest.

I try to change everyday. I wake up telling myself it’s a new day. That I’m going to do better, be better, know better. But I keep fucking things up. If it’s not with you, it’s with someone else. That’s why I pour myself into work. I don’t fuck up at work. I fuck up with people.

You’re better off without me. That’s why I don’t reach out. Deep down, if I shared my true heart with you, you’d know that I’m coming to terms with the idea that I’ll be alone. That there just truly and honestly is no one else that I will let myself love after everything that has happened with you. I don’t believe in soul mates like I used to. Where you and I were made for each other. Love is a choice. I just don’t think I can choose to do it again. To protect myself. But to protect the other person too.

I’m a grenade. For your sake, I’m glad you finally decided to move on. I hope you have the most beautiful life that you’ve always wanted. That you have the most beautiful family. The most fulfilling career. A partner to hold hands with even when you’re old. I haven’t always meant it. But every time I stop meaning it, I pray that God changes my heart so that I can wish the best for you.

I pray for you often, even though the last time you were in my life, you told me you don’t believe in God anymore. That stung. I hope you said it because you wanted me to feel the pain you were feeling and not because you meant it. I hope that you let go of any anger you harbor in your heart. For me, for God, for anything. Not for my sake, but because that anger hurts you the most. And I don’t want you to hurt because I love you. I will always love you. Not in the same way, but in a special way.

Goodbye.

[thotantics]

⚤   pairing — reader + Oh Sehun (exo)

✎ word count — 1,715

✦ genre — smut, angst, drabble

✗ warnings  — graphic description of sex

[A/N] the moment i saw this request, i knew it was perfect to be a continuation of this post. i’m fully into fuckboy!sehun im ngl but he needed a redemption and im just not great with angst :’)

[Requests] Do you like it? I bought it just for you... + I’m still mad at you. w/ Sehun please 🖤

With the echo of his harsh final words still ringing in your ears, you said for the next few days that you would never again let him use you; never again would Oh Sehun make you feel like you were unworthy.

It was nothing but a brief texting session that ended with you half way across town from your apartment to meet up with him. The cold night air was biting at your cheeks, and you huddled down into your heavy coat, glancing farther up the street at the front of the hotel Sehun had instructed you to meet him at.

In the elevator on the way up to his floor, you were having yet another spell of serious doubt. Clearly, Sehun had just played you the way he always had done and you were willingly giving into him. Again.

In an alternate universe, you would tell him exactly why you were angry with him and you would tell him that you hope you never see him again as you storm out. In that timeline, Sehun maybe would learn a lesson about how to treat people and maybe the next girl would be luckier than you had been.

In this timeline, however, Sehun opened the door and he was nearly nude and instead of telling him all of the concrete reasons you were ending this sordid affair, you just...stared.

He smirked.

“Hi, babe.” He greets you, and the pet name sends a dull ache throbbing in your chest with every beat of your heart. “Did you miss me?”

He tilts his head and the smile he gives you is almost mocking, but dammit the truth was yes. You absolutely had missed him. You don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know, however. Even still, you’re unable to recall any of the things you had meant to tell him in the time since you last saw him.

Something about ending this, but it was definitely less important than the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest and after all this time feeling dead inside without him, now he was here, you were alive again.

His chiseled torso is bare and is fully blocking any and all coherent thoughts from your head except, maybe...what it feels like to kiss him there, right at the clavicle, to feel his heart beating in his veins under your lips, to hear him sigh.

“Come inside,” Sehun tells you, snapping you out of your fantasies as you look him over, and he steps aside to let you in. “We need to talk.”

Alarms go off in your head at those four little words. Heart sinking, you brush past him to get inside struggling to regain control of your thoughts and emotions.

He’s not about to end this. You are. Once and for all. It had been a long time coming and if anybody was going to put a stop to the madness, it had to be you. Now. Enough was enough.

Turning on your heel when you make it to his living room, you open your mouth to end it, “This has to sto-”

Before you can even complete a sentence, you’re faced with the sight of Sehun holding out a little gift bag, an even smaller box with a bow, and a box of chocolate covered strawberries. The sight stuns you into silence and you stand there, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water, gawking between Sehun and the gifts he’s presenting to you.

The more seconds that pass while you stand there looking at him, the more he looks...awkwardly and genuinely vulnerable. After a while, his shoulders slump, and he lowers the gifts a few inches, “I’m just...trying to say that I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “You must think I’m stupid.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Sehun explains briefly, “I know I’ve been selfish and cruel. My intention wasn’t...I only...” He stops, sighs, then he turns and deposits all the gifts haphazardly on the coffee table. “I didn’t mean for us to develop these feelings for each other. I was just having fun. I thought that you were, too. Genuinely, I’m sorry.” He gestures at the things he deposited on the coffee table and turns away with a noncommittal shrug. “That’s yours, if you want it.”

You hesitate, looking from Sehun to the table and back again, then you inch forward and pick up the gift bag first, peering inside. The lacy garment you pull out doesn’t do much to quell your anger, and you lift your gaze back to Sehun, glaring. “Seriously?”

“Do you like it?” He asks hopefully.

“Do you think you can win me over this time with fucking lingerie, Oh Sehun?” You’re aghast, “How fucking vapid do you think I am?”

“I thought it would look nice on you...” He frowns, “I didn’t- I just wanted to be nice, I didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I thought girls liked Victoria’s Secret?”

You roll your eyes.

“Well, that’s not all!” He protests, “Open the other one before you decide I’m even more of an asshole. And I got you chocolate, too.”

With a sigh, you pluck the box with the bow off of the table and tug the lid off. Inside is a necklace with a dainty pendant. It had been on display in a shop weeks earlier when you had first seen it. It wasn’t your typical style, but you had been drawn to the beauty of the necklace, the elegance you wished that you carried was evident in the accessory and at the time, you had been smitten by it.

You couldn’t afford it even if you had skipped that month’s rent, and you had left it behind at Sehun’s insistence to rush to the restaurant before your reservation was missed. At the time, you had chalked it up to one more of the many reasons Sehun had been cold towards you, heartless and uncaring even to let you simply stop and window shop and dream of a life where you were the kind of person to wear such an item.

“I bought it for you.” Sehun tells you quietly, “I remembered you looking at it back then and after we left, I took a picture of it and sent for it. It took some time before I got it, mainly because I was too afraid what it meant if I got this for you, if I allow myself to be open with you.” He sighs, “I hoped that this was some sort of symbolic gesture that would make you understand without me having to tell you myself. I’m a coward, Y/N, and I’m truly sorry that my cowardice has hurt you.”

You’re rendered speechless for a long while. So long, in fact, that Sehun has given up waiting for a response and he leaves, crossing the room to the kitchen area of the condo, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the bar. He downs one shot and is pouring a second before you finally find your voice.

“I didn’t realize that you...were paying any attention.” You tell him softly, staring at the necklace nestled in the cute little box in your hands.

“Of course I pay attention to you.” Sehun places the whiskey on the bar heavily so the liquid within sloshes, and he bows his head down and leans into the bar on his hands. “I love you.” He says it to the floor, unable to look at you but the words draw your attention fully to him.

You drop the box with the necklace on the table with the rest of his gifts and storm across the room to the bar area, stepping around it as Sehun lifts his eyes from the ground to peer at you questioningly.

“Tell me you love me again.” You say to him the same words he said to you before, when you fucked last, when you opened yourself up to him and he shot you down. Only this time, it was his heart that was on the line. You felt for the first time that you were in control.

“Tell me.” You repeated, but your voice was filled with emotion.

“I wanted to hide from you, but I see you. Your heart. And I love you. I’m sorry that I was so afraid of what that means, but I do.” Sehun says, “I love y-”

The final word was cut off by your lips, your arms flying around his neck and your body crashing into his chest as you kissed him with everything in you. All this time feeling worthless and stupid for letting Sehun play you, this had been what you had needed from him - vulnerability, honesty, reciprocation.

As you kissed his arms wound around your waist and you felt his tongue brush your lips and you pulled back, breathing unevenly as you stared into his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.” He said within a heartbeat, zero hesitation and the slightest smile ghosting on his handsome face.

There’s a mad rush to get out of your clothes suddenly. Your hands are working together to rid your bodies of the unwanted garments in between heavy kisses and desperate gasps of air. You turn and attempt to jump up on the counter once most of your clothes are out of the way, palming his erection and attempting to guide him inside but Sehun shakes his head.

“Not here.” He mumbles against your throat, “The bedroom.”

Your heart feels like it’s blooming in your chest as he wraps your legs around his waist and carries you to bed. You keep kissing him, hands in his hair, lips attacking every inch of his face, neck and shoulders that you can reach before he lays you down and climbs over you, hips flexing to slide his cock between your slick folds.

“I’m still mad at you.” You tell him as he straightens up between your legs and he looks down at you, brows knit together in concern briefly, but you grasp his cock and guide him to your entrance and Sehun groans.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He says, “I swear.”

And with that, he presses himself inside of you and nothing else matters.

[melodiouswhite]

Fire, Earth, Water, Air

(A/N: I was having a mind fuck, because I was high on delicious raspberry brownies and the voice of Anthony Warlow, so I’m delivering this grotesquely saccharine trash to you. I am not sorry)

I associate people with the oddest things, especially those I care about the most. Maybe it's because I am a man of science (a mad scientist, as my loved ones say), that I look at them and think of things that wouldn't even occur to most ordinary people. Why is it that I see them and compare them to the four elements of alchemy? I'm not an alchemist. I experiment with transcendent medicine and split my very own soul. That doesn't necessarily make me an alchemist. My friends and loved ones would probably disagree.

But I can't help it. When I am around the four of them, it's like all elements come into place.

Fire, earth, water and air.

Those are traditionally four of the five elements of alchemy. Ether is the fifth one, but I don't know anyone whom it would suit. And I can't be any of the other four, because my dear ones fit them so much better than I do.

The elements suit them in exactly that order.

Edward Hyde is the fire.

What else could he possibly be?

He is my alter ego, my darker side personified. He is as destructive as the element I connect him to. He has a hot temper, the slightest mistake can set him ablaze. If you get too close to him, you will burn your hands. Metaphorically of course. That little demon has no sense of boundaries. He is my hell child and one day, we both will go there.

But like fire, he draws me in. While everyone else recoils from his dark aura, I see the glow within him. I look at him like at the fire in my chimney, watching the flames dance and glow. It's like a drug to me. Hyde flares with energy and when he touches me, it feels like his spark sets me aflame as well. When his skin is on mine, I burn with want and desire. His voice makes me melt like butter in the sun. His silver tongue sets me ablaze. Like fire, I can't touch him without burning myself, yet his warmth tempts me again and again. I want his warmth, his light, I envy him for it. He knows, of course. I love how alive and vigorous he makes me feel. And although I know, that he consumes me like fire consumes everything in its path, I don't have the heart to snuff this fire out. I suppose I will never learn, but it's fine, because he will always be with me, as long as I live. We both know that I can't live without him and he never tires to remind me of it. Edward Hyde is the biggest pest I know, but I love him.

Hastie Lanyon is the earth.

He is my dear friend and colleague. He is firm, sensible and generous. And stubborn. My god, is he stubborn! Yet, I need him. When he's not having a nervous breakdown, he is a source of stability I can rely on. He is the voice of reason I refuse to listen to, yet I am lost without him. I know that, because I have been lost without him before and I will not let it happen again. Of course it's difficult. Sometimes we rouse each other's temper until his seemingly stable surface breaks and unleashes an earthquake. In nine of ten cases, he is the first one to pick up the pieces. I'm a horribly selfish man and I know that I don't give him the appreciation he deserves. He knows it too. But he doesn't speak of it, never. He has given me more chances than I deserved, forgave me more often than I deserved. He took our past together and buried it somewhere, so we could face the future. I cannot put my gratitude into words, but he knows anyway. Sometimes I wonder, if I'm just that obvious or if he's just that good at reading me.

Gabriel John Utterson is the water.

He is more than my best friend. He is my love, my life. Of course I know that he's not innocent, that he's not an angel, yet he seems heaven-sent to me. I need him to live, like a flower needs the rain. He gives water to my barren soul. He runs deep, like a still water and unless he expresses it, it's impossible to know what he really feels. I can only ever try to dive down to the ground of his being, knowing that I will never reach. His eyes have the colour of the clear sky, yet, they resemble the water like no other. They sparkle like the surface of a lake under the sun, when he is happy and freeze to ice, when he is angry. When he hold me in his arms, when he kisses me, I drink it up as greedily and desperately as a man dying from thirst would drink from a well. In a way, he is mine, my elixir of life. His waters carry away the broken remains of my dead dreams, heal the wounds of my broken heart and wash the scars until they fade and no longer hurt.

If I burn up under Hyde's touch, Gabriel cools me down. I am an anxious and restless man, but he makes me feel at peace and I love, adore, worship him for it. There is no word strong enough to express just how much I love and need him, how deep my gratitude is for everything he does for me. Sometimes I wonder, why he doesn't just leave me, because I'm thoroughly unworthy of him.

Then there is Lady Summers.

She is the air.

She flies higher than anyone else, yet she lands as easily as a cat. Not just figuratively, in my eyes. When she dances, she is graceful and her steps are light, when she fights, her movements are as fast as the wind. She seems to really fly. Ever since I have known her, she has been the wind that carried me down safely, when I fell. I can never be angry at her for long, her direct, knowing and pragmatic demeanour is just too enlivening. She breathes life into me, when I suffocate.

No one can confine her, no one can tame her. She does whatever she wants and more than often gets away with it. The rules of mankind mean nothing to her, she plays by her own.

She is as multifaceted as the weather. Behind her beautiful face hides a force of nature. Just when you believe you know her, she catches you by surprise. She defies any understanding. She can be a gentle breeze, but she can also be a terrible storm. In her wrath she can tear everything to shreds, like a tornado does with a wooden house. Her sympathy is as warm as the summer, her cruelty is as cold as the winter. I can only dream of the things she knows. She sees and has seen so many things that no one else can see.

I can never have her boundless freedom, but sometimes she gives me a taste of it. When she talks of her adventures, her stories carry me far away.

They go so perfectly together. They fit in so beautifully. When I'm around all four of them, I feel like I'm one with the world. I feel safer than I ever could have imagined. There are no words for how dear they are to me. But at the same time I feel both like I'm something and like I'm nothing. I don't know where I belong. All of them have an element that fits them perfectly, but what am I?

I am not the air, because I can't soar like Lady Summers can. I, with my stilted wings, can never fly high enough to reach my goals and ambitions.

I am not the water, because my soul is as barren as a desert. I never knew how shallow I was, until Gabriel demonstrated, just how profound he is.

I am not the earth, because despite being chained, I have lost every touch to the ground. I have cut off my own roots. Without Lanyon's helping hand, I would lose my last shred of sanity.

I am not the fire, because my own flame has long since gone out. I am just a pile of ash next to Hyde's nigh unquenchable flame, spiritless, dead and cold. He made me realise that.

I always used to feel like I was far above mankind, as if I was on top of the world. But when I see the four of them together, I realise how wrong I was. They humble me, but I need them to feel whole again, to pick up the pieces of the soul that I shattered in my foolishness.

I need Hyde to feel alive, Lanyon to feel sane, Gabriel to feel at peace and Lady Summers to feel free.

Without them, I'm less than human. They know that and indulge me. I am a lucky man, because I have them.

I have no element that fits me and I am not worthy of being the ether, but that's fine, because when I have my four elements around me, it doesn't matter and I can be me, I can be Henry Jekyll again.

[flyingthehedge]

Seeking Your Animal Guides + My Animal Guides

After you have successfully traveled to the Otherworld, the next step is to seek your animal guides. These are the beings in animal form that will help guide you in your travels and aid in your healing and growth as a hedgewitch. Some hedgewitches consider their animal guides to be their familiars. This is a perfectly acceptable viewpoint, especially if you do not have a familiar within our realm like myself. I have three beautiful cats, but none of them are familiars, at least not yet. The verdict is still out on little Charlie as he is still a kitten and hasn't reached maturity yet. But I digress.

Animal guides sometimes referred to as a power animal or totem, come in many shapes and forms and can change over the lifetime of the witch. They can be birds, fish, insects, or mammals, but in general, they are wild animals, not a domesticated pet. However, it is not unheard of for a hedgewitch to have a dog or cat as their animal guide, but it is uncommon. Furthermore, it not unheard of for a mythical creature to be your animal guide, but again, this is rare because you animal guide will often appear within our realm to guide and assist you, and mythical creatures have a hard time passing successfully into our world.

Some say you choose the animal guide, but I have found that 99.99% of the time, the animal guide chooses you. Furthermore, an affinity toward an animal does not necessarily mean that particular animal is your animal guide. For example, my favorite animal is the maned wolf, but I haven't seen it show up as an animal guide, at least not yet. You may think your animal guide is a bear, wolf, or eagle (which most people tend to think because they associate animal guides with Native American culture), but your guide or guides may very well be a turtle, clownfish, ox, or rabbit.

What is an Animal Guide?

So what is the role of an animal guide?

1. They are our trusted friends. Your animal guides are there for you to lean on whenever you need them. They are there to help you answer questions, aid in magical workings, give you confidence, and stand by your side, no matter what you do because that's what friends are for.

2. They are our guides, NOT our controllers. You animal guide will never intervene unless your life is in danger or you ask for assistance. They are not self-seeking. Their role is that of a mentor; to advise and suggest based on their lifetime of experience.

3. They are our escorts in the Otherworld. Your animal guide acts as a travel guide through the Otherworld, keeping you safe in the process.

4. They are conduits; they help aid and direct our energies and channel the energies of the Otherworld so we may effectively see them. When you finally travel to the Upper Realm, your guides will help bring this realm into focus for you. Those beings operate on a much higher frequency so your animal guide will act as a mediator or translator to bring the picture into view for you.

5. They are our bodyguards. This is probably the most important role outside of being a mentor. Your animal guides will protect you, both in and out of our realm, from harm as much as they possibly can. There are hidden dangers in the Otherworld and it is imperative you not travel alone. However, that doesn't mean your animal guides won't allow you to suffer hardship; quite the contrary. Your guides will ensure your experience hardship, but only is it has something to teach us.

6. They are our caretakers, working to heal us, cleanse us of negativity, and even help to heal physical ailments. For personal experience, there is nothing that makes me feel better after suffering a bought of anxiety or depression quite like visiting my animal guides.

7. They are our instructors. Your guides are there to act as a teacher, not just a mentor offering advice. They will provide you with opportunities to grow as a hedgewitch and person, in a semi-controlled fashion. They will share knowledge and wisdom with you freely, although sometimes cryptic. If they do not know the answer, they will tell you so, but guide you down the right path to find the answers you seek.

Your animal guide is NOT:

a dictator

a slave or servant

a genie

a god

evil, self-seeking, or otherwise harmful to you

Our relationships with our animal guides should be treasured and nurtured, just like friendships within our realm.

Meeting Your Animal Guides

Meeting your animal guides for the first time can be quite simple, however, there will be times animal guides appear to you when you are not actively seeking them. Your animal guides reside in the Lower Realm, so this is where you will have to travel. If you happen to meet an animal outside of the Lower Realm, be cautious. They are likely not an animal guide, but on some off chance they are, they will appear to you in the Lower Realm another time. To meet your animal guides for the first time, set your intention for your journey as follows: "I will journey to the Lower World to meet my animal guide. I ask that may animal guide be waiting for me when I arrive at the Lower World."

The first time you do this, you may not meet your guides. It could take a couple tries to get their attention, especially if you are new to hedge riding. You may notice that your animal guides change with you. That's okay. The animal guides you have today may not be the guides you need in 10 years. You will also likely have more than one, each to teach you a different lesson. Be open and accepting of what they have to teach you.

My Animal Guides

I have briefly mentioned my animal guides before, but I figured I would give a more detailed description of them in this post, with their blessings of course. I have two guides: a female red fox named Meka, and a male raven named Rocar.

Meka is by far the guide that shows up the most. She is kind, loving, playful, and wise beyond her years. She is very motherly and extremely patient with me. Meka is often my transportation through the realms and has accompanied me on soul retrievals, chord cuttings, and general journies. Whenever I meet her, she greets me like a playful puppy, bouncing around as if its the first time she has seen me. It's a wonderful feeling to be with her; just thinking about her calms my anxiety and fills my heart with love. My favorite thing to do is lie with her in my Garden within the Middle Realm and stare up at the clouds. It's the most peaceful thing imaginable.

Rocar, on the other hand, is a completely different beast. He is loud, rude, obnoxious, and extremely sarcastic. He likes to pick at my hair and face and completely lacks the patience and grace of Meka. He likes to pick on Meka too, often diving down to peck her while we are together, then flying off laughing in a way only a raven can. But Rocar is a wonderful teacher and a reflection of myself. I too am loud, rude, obnoxious, and extremely sarcastic. Whenever I wonder what I am doing wrong, Rocar is there to be blunt and matter-of-fact. His lessons are hard-hitting but valuable. While Meka likes to avoid hurting me, Rocar knows that sometimes pain is the greatest teacher and he isn't afraid to use it on me.

At this point in my life, these are the guides I desperately need. Between my feelings of self-doubt and unworthiness, my divorce last year, and the financial and health struggles I have endured, I need someone to love me unconditionally and someone to smack some sense in me at the same time. You will find that your animal guides are there to meet your needs right now, in this phase of your life. Sometimes they are not the guide we want, but the guide we need. It is my greatest hope for you as a hedgewitch that you connect with your animal guides in a way that transforms your life. I cannot express enough how important your animal guides are to your growth and success and I sincerely hope that your experience is as magical as mine.

Interest in the rest of the series? Make sure to keep an eye out for upcoming posts!

Hedge Riding Series

What is Hedge Riding?

Realms of the Otherworld

Focusing the Mind: Getting Ready to Ride

Preparation + Hedge Riding Sachet

Hedge Riding Etiquette: Do's and Don't's of Interacting with Spirits

Hedge Riding Safety Tips: Staying Safe Outside Our Realm

How to Hedge Ride + Flying Ointments

Seeking Your Animal Guides + My Animal Guides

Developing a Relationship With Your Spirit Companions

After You Hedge Ride: Coming Back to Earth

My Hedge Riding Experiences

Looking for more information on hedge witches? Check out my posts on the topic:

What is a Hedgewitch?

Hedgewitch vs Kitchen Witch

Meditation, Pathwalking, and Hedge Riding: Making Sense of It All

[wackygoofball]

Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Magicians AU

Jaime Lannister, infamous magician, is back in town.

And that even though everyone thought he would never return after the horrid accident during his last performance, which is still fresh on everyone’s minds.

Thus, it is little surprising that when the posters are freshly glued to the walls around King’s Landing, young and old alike are in an haste, rushing to the booths to get a ticket for the show soon booked out to the last seat.

Because that is something you cannot afford to miss.

And so, once the decisive night arrives, people are sitting on the edge of their seats, wanting to know what Mr. Lannister will perform after he was gone for so long, licking his wounds, mourning his losses. After all, his show was advertised as something completely new, something no one has ever seen before:

The Illusion of an Illusion – the Undeniable Truth

Or so it said on the posters.

When the lights go out and the magician comes out onto the stage, looking very much different from his previous performances, all let out a collective sharp breath. There is something rigid to Mr. Lannister’s movements, something heavy to his steps, his eyes downcast, the bounce and broad smile that used to captivate the masses completely vanished.

Though it’s little wonder, considering what he has been through.

And yet, here he stands, promising the audience something exceptional, something not from this world.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the illusionist begins as he comes to the front of the stage. “As you all know, I stand before you with a heavy heart, still shaken from what happened during my last performance. We showmen like to say that the show must go on, but truth be told, I did not know how to go on from where I left and what I left… And so, tonight I stand before you not yet with a look into the future, but a glance back into the past, to break the spell of the illusion itself, strip it down to its very core, the undeniable truth, the magic itself.”

Murmurs go through the ranks as the audience sees the man pacing up and down the side of the stage, until he stops back in the center, looking like a lion in a cage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight, you are the first to witness the undeniable truth of illusion. Tonight, you are to witness times melting, shifting, overlapping, mingling together, becoming one. Tonight, past will be present, and present will be future. Tonight, the living will dance with the dead one more time. Tonight… you will see the other side.”

The lights die out completely, but as they come back on to the man standing there with his left hand outstretched, people see him holding a small, wooden box in his palm, which magically appeared out of nowhere. It opens without him moving a finger, and a single, blue butterfly flies out of the box.

Yet another uproar goes through the audience, most well remembering that his assistant used butterflies during her performance. However, their attention is soon drawn away from the memory as the lights start to flicker, and when the light clears again, the butterfly fades into darkness and something else steps into the light in its stead.

Someone else, apparently.

The people start to scream in fear, in shock, in awe.

How can this be?

How is this possible?

“That is Brienne of Tarth.”

“Brienne of Tarth!”

“But she is dead!”

“She died!”

“On stage!”

“Brienne of Tarth!”

“A ghost!”

“A demon!”

“What is this?!”

“Witchcraft!”

“But she died! How can this be?!”

“The Seven may help us!”

Because everyone knows that Brienne of Tarth, a woman who entered the stage as an escape artist under Jaime Lannister, died during the last performance, having failed to free herself from the water tank that already took the life of far too many escape artists of her kind, such as Mr. Evenstar, the infamous illusionist who brought magic to all of the Seven Kingdoms.

And yet, there she stands, or rather, a figment of her, a faint echo from the other side, as Mr. Lannister demonstrates when he moves his hand right through her immaterial body, though it seems to pain him to move through her without the chance to touch.

Because worlds keep them apart.

The crowd is shocked. People jump up from their seats, some scream, some even cry, the images of the woman suffocating in the tank still too fresh, still too painful to remember, the echo of his screams as he held her still too loud, too raw.

“Are you truly dead?” someone shouts.

“Yes,” the ghastly presence answers, shaking even more people to the core as she turns to face them.

“What do you want to tell us?”

“The truth.”

“About what?”

“How I died.”

The audience is distraught, as more and more voices start to whisper about how, maybe, there is more to her case than a simple, horrible accident, as all believed.

“Was it murder?”

“Who killed you?”

“Give us the name!”

“Tell us!”

“Tell us now!”

“I cannot say,” she speaks, but then turns to Mr. Lannister instead, her blue eyes watering without shedding a single tear. He holds out his hand to her, and for a moment, it seems like they will touch, but then Brienne fades away and the room goes dark again, returning to Jaime standing there alone, the butterfly returned, sitting on the tip of his fingers, slowly moving its wings.

The silence is deafening.

“This is the truth that all should hear, that all should see. This is a message from the other side. I am merely the messenger, and it is up to you find its true meaning. Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen.”

With that, the illusionist rushes off the stage, leaving the crowd to speculate, to fear, to shout, to scream, to cry, coming to grips with the fact that this man, who used to pull bunnies out of hats, made cards change position, and doves fly out of a red handkerchief with a smile on his face, now seems to be the solemn messenger of the other side, the side of the dead.

When finally backstage, Jaime takes a moment to gather himself, carefully putting the butterfly back into its cage, still shaking.

There are so many things the people do not know, for which he is glad for the most part. After all, that is part of their game, that people do not understand all of what they do, that they do not see what they see, but at the same time… they simply do not understand, cannot fathom, cannot grasp.

Most still tend to believe that Brienne was just his assistant, a woman he helped promote by putting her on-stage to push her from the back to the front, when she insisted all the while that she couldn’t ever perform for a crowd, would always fail to captivate the masses… until she did.

Little do they know that there would be no Mr. Lannister on-stage without the woman who helped him find a new kind of magic after his hand injury.

Little do they know that this woman cast illusions stronger and all-encompassing that even he could not see through them all, to the point that she learned from the very best without anyone’s awareness.

Little do they know that she was more than the escape artist who freed herself from whatever shackles Jaime put on her, even if she did not have the looks most women standing on the stage will have, even though she was frowned up, and yet they clapped their hands once they saw her wrestle free from impossible constraints.

Little do they know that she was an artist in its purest form, who hid her art within the illusion of an illusion, within the art itself.

Little do they know that she was the world to him.

Little do they know of her tender touch, her small, hidden smile, the reason why she loved butterflies so much, how her lips tasted and how she brought to life something within Jaime that he thought was long since dead.

And little do they know about what went on behind the closed curtains, behind shut doors, the whispers, murmurs, betrayal, deceit, the danger, the fights without swords, without knives or guns, without honor, fights without winners.

Little do they know…

Jaime is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears someone approach, though he is little surprised by whom he sees, casually leaning against the doorframe.

Though nothing about this is casual, nothing about this is light.

“I already thought you couldn’t help but come by to catch a glimpse at my newest show,” Jaime scoffs, making his discontent no secret.

Why should he?

The backstage is always the place where honesty happens, where all curtains fall, where illusionists lay bare, vulnerable, but free.

Or so they think.

“The whole town was in an uproar, so I had to see what all of that fuss was about,” the fellow magician argues with his snarky kind of smile, thinking himself smart, as always. “I honestly didn’t expect to see you back that early… or at all, after what happened. It was such a tragedy.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Jaime retorts in a dark voice. “I was there. I held her. I know that it was… such a tragedy.”

“Though now you hold her no longer, at least during the show,” the other man comments.

“What do you want, Euron?”

“We all know this is some kind of illusion, a clever kind of trick, or do you want me to believe that you actually brought her back from the dead? The woman was as dead as a person could be, an ugly, dead fish in the water. So… from one magician to the other… You could at least give me a hint, you know?”

“From one magician to the other, if you can’t figure out the illusion, you are not nearly as good as you give yourself credit for… and are unworthy of the truth.”

With that, Jaime heads out, leaving Mr. Greyjoy, one of the top-performing illusionists around Westeros, standing there, fuming, furious, hurt in his pride yet again. Because when he looks back to the crowd, Euron knows that he is no longer the magical king that he was during Mr. Lannister’s absence.

The crowd loves Mr. Lannister and his new illusion even more than they seemed to throw their hearts at him for his last performances.

They still want him, always only him.

And her, for as long as she was around – and is now around again.

And Euron Greyjoy is not willing to give up his position, he never was and won’t ever be. No matter the costs, no matter the sacrifice.

Little do they know…

And so, a game of cat and mouse ensues yet again as one magician tries to figure out the undeniable truth, the explanation for this impossible trick, as more and more truths pour from Brienne’s mouth, even though it should hold nothing but water at this point. A game they played before, even though Jaime and Brienne never wanted to take part, until they had to, all of which culminates in Mr. Lannister’s last performance, thereby striking a deal with Mr. Greyjoy to learn the truth, under the one condition that he reveals his own.

A trick for a trick.

A life for a life.

One message for the other.

The illusion of an illusion.

The undeniable truth…

Additional Image Sources: The Prestige (2006), The Illusionist (2006), Pin, (x), (x), (x), (x).

[jojuarez26]

The devil is a woman she wears Erudite blue and still resides in apartment 202

Divergent fanfiction Eric/OC Mature content and strong language. I do not own any part of Divergent

I fell in love with and utterly loathed her simultaneously when I first laid eyes on her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms while telling her she was pathetic. I didn't and never will turn my back on her.

She is my worst nightmare, my favorite wet dream and as refreshing as a sunny day. I can't stand her presence while wishing for more hours in a day for more time with her. My sunny day, crazy fucking hurricane. Tarrin Tate.

This bitch just disrespected Mother, while also disrupting dinner, then leave? I think she bumped her damn head before she got out of bed this morning.

I storm down to apartment 202 and rip the door open. I slam it shut and stalk thunderously towards her bedroom. Walking in I kick the door shut.

She sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes a blaze, chest heaving and fist clenched in her lap.

"Get.the.fuck.out!," she growls at me.

I smile in I know what must be a sadistic looking manor. She is the only person in the world who gets away with talking to me like that. Damn if that shit doesn't turn me on. I approached my prey carefully, as I know she runs fast and knows how and were to land crippling blows.

"Eric I said ge-"

"I know what the fuck you said Fancy. But you have been a very bad girl today," I hiss out quietly.

Her eyes go wide and she stands up to move, she never had a chance and she knows it. I strike like a snake, I push her face first on the bed with one hand while undoing my fly with the other.

I shove that blue pencil skirt up to her waiste while pushing my pants and blue silk boxers to my knees. My Fancy isn't wearing any underwear.

My cock twitches at the sight of that pretty ass up in the air. With no warning I plunge into her warm wetness with fury. A loud pleasurable cry rings out into the thick silence of the room. I continue to give hard, deep angry thrust while my grunts and her cries fill the sex filled, electric charged air.

"Fuck Blue!! Harder!," she screams out.

"Gladly," I growl snatching up a fistful of dark hair, yanking her up and grabbing the headboard.

"Fuck!! You feel so good Blue," she moans grabbing my wrist and digging her nails in.

That breathless moan and the twitches tighten around my throbbing cock and when she cries out again, I'm done for.

My hard, even thrust became sloppy and erratic. My toes raise up on there own accord as both our bodies shutter, then shatter as one.

I let her go and drop to the bed beside her. Rolling over she places her head on my chest, curling up to me with a fully sated smile on her face.

"How did you know a good, hard fuck was exactly what I needed," she whispered shoving thick, dark trundles of hair out of her face.

"How long have I known you? How long have we been doing this? Simple logic Fancy," I smile arrogantly.

"Asshole. Your such a fucking nose,"she quips, smacking my chest.

"What the hell does that make you then?," I ask curious of her answer.

"The Devil that haunts your soul," her green eyes shine as she says this in a deadpan tone.

A snort of laughter erupts from deep in my chest. At least she knows who she is not lieing to herself like most of the boring, cold fish, too arrogant for their unworthy selves bitches in Erudite.

"At least you know your place," I smile kissing her forehead.

She sighs, tightening her grip around my waist. We lay there in a comfortable silence while I run my fingers threw her hair.

She has been more moody and vicious than her normal snarky self. Something has been bothering her. I have known her, studied her and helped mold her since she was five. I've worked on knowing ever last inch of her beautiful body for the last eight months now.

She can't hide from me.

But she sure the fuck is trying. It's starting to try my patients and grind my nerves. I had hoped she was just tell me what has her malfunctioning and slowly melting down.

But, she hasn't. Now I am going to ask. If she knows what's good for her, she'll tell.

"Tarrin? What the hell has been eating you from the inside out?" I look at the ceiling, studying the cracks waiting for an answer.

Her whole body stiffens. I feel her heart rate pick up as well as her breathing. Yet she still says nothing.

"Tarrin?" My tone of voice displays the fact my patiences has worn to a thread. I'm about to snap on her. I truly don't want to.

"I saw my mother about six weeks ago. Then got summoned by Jeanine two weeks later." She whispers with a sadness laced in her voice I haven't heard since she was seven.

"Karen isn't your fucking Mother. Gloria is. Karen was you fucking incubator." I seethed

That woman abandoned her and never looked back. My mother was present for ever tear, scratch, nightmare, hugs, awards and ever event in her life a mother is privileged enough to be there for. NOT Karen.

"Did find Karen or did she search you out?" I asked in a cold deadly tone.

"She came to me. Found me in the library. I didn't even know who she was at first. I asked what the fuck she was starring at and told her to take a damn picture," she snapped threw gritted teeth.

I laughed. That would be my girl. It also means Karen doesn't know what's good for her and that I WILL snap her fucking neck if she upsets Tarrin. We took years undoing the damage that bitch did. The trama of how she left and the fact that she left her at all almost destroyed Tarrin. Only my Mother and brother Jacob know how many days and nights I spent holding her and trying to find away to dry her eyes and chase away her nightmares. Tarrin is MINE. Mine and nobody else's. I will kill for the girl laying in my arms. Most of Erudite already knows that. Guess Karen needs to be informed too.

"What did she want," I asked trying to control the angry twitch forming in my jaw.

Tarrin let out a heavy sigh. I suddenly felt warm tears start to leak threw my shirt. I quickly sat up grabbing her chin gently to turn her face to look at me.

"Tarrin. Fancy, what did she do or say to you?" Anger was starting to course threw my veins.

Fear and dread filled my devil's beautiful emerald eyes, my temper was quickly sky rocketing to a dangerous boiling point.

"Tarrin, tell me, now. I am one step away from turning Erudite upside down to find this bitch," I growl.

"Eric. You're hurting me. Let go," she whispered wrapping her hand loosely around my wrist of the hand still gripping her chin.

"FUCK.l'm so sorry Fancy." I quickly let go and pull her to my chest.

This human in my arms is the most important thing to me in my life. Has been since her tear stained face looked up with the saddest, scared, pretty green eyes I would ever see. The first and almost only thing I ever gave a damn about besides myself. Only my Mother, for making it possible that my little devil would always be a part of my life. The only two women who will ever have my heart.

"Tarrin, please tell me what the actual fuck is going on before I loose my fucking mind," I ask quietly. This is killing me to see her so sad and afraid again.

I do not like being in control of a situation. Even more I do not like that Tarrin is upset and I do not know how to correct it.

"She told me to prepare to be alone. That in three months when the time comes to choose, the choice won't be me. So it would be better to move on now and get being alone and being a second choice in my system," she choked as the tears flow harder and faster.

"Two weeks later when Jeanine told me that I was getting in the way of your assignment and that if she didn't get what she wants because of me. I would be eliminated as a problem one way or another," she is full on sobbing and I am seeing red.

These bitches. I told Jeanine I would consider her offer. But, that I would only choose Dauntless if I still end up with Tarrin by my side. I will have her as my wife and by my side once I am seventeen and she is sixteen no matter what. If I have to become fucking Factionless to do it, it will be done. I will not give her up. EVER.

"Fancy, I have not given Jeanine my answer. My answer was going to be contingent on how you felt about it and that you agree to become Dauntless next year," I explained in a barily controled tone.

"I know. If I don't ensure your blood sizzles on Dauntless coals in three months. I will be punished in a way I wished I was just made Factionless," she says in a monotone voice.

"WHAT?!" I shout in disbelief.

Does Jeanine not realize I will slit her throat in her sleep? I am what Erudites fancy, fucked up psychological specialists would classify as a sociopath with psychopathic tendencies. Throw threatening Tarrin in I jump straight to murderous.

"Eric she knows exactly how you are and what you will do for me. That's exactly why she knows you're what she wants. If I stand in her way, I will just become collateral damage," her voice is now shaking in anger.

I stand up abruptly starting to right all my clothing. My hands are shaking with rage. I don't know what made this crazy bitch think she controls my life, but I am about to show her how much she does not.

"Eric where are you going!" Tarrin jumps up grabbing my arm.

"Please do not touch me right now Fance," I say as calmly as I can.

I would never intentionally hurt her. With my adrenalin rushing so hard and my anger so blinding. I do not want to accidentally snap. I give to my girl. She would definitely be Dauntless material, standing her ground tightening her grip and pulling me too her. Brave soul.

"As much as this is about Jeanine, this is also about us. So sit the fuck down, shut the hell up and listen to me. Talk to me. Forget that evil step-ford looking wife for ten seconds." I can't do anything but sit.

Nobody besides her and my mother can shut me down and put me in my place like that. But, she is also right. This is between the two of us. Not Jeanine.

"First of all, do even WANT to go to Dauntless. Are you content her in Erudite?" She ask me.

Nobody ever asked me what I wanted when this whole idea was introduced to me months ago. They have been trying to train me while trying to convince me this is WHAT I WANT. All the promise of control and power to allure my superiority complex to do their bidding.

"I haven't spent a night with you further away from me than down the hall since I was six. I haven't spent a night without you in my arms since I was twelve. To spend every night in another faction without you for a year? I don't think it's possible. Besides that, if you won't go, I sure the hell am not going." I wanted to make sure that was clear right now.

"That still didn't answer the question. Do you even want to go to Dauntless? Would you be happy with your choice like Seth was with Erudite or Jacob is with Amity. Do you want to live a Dauntless lifestyle for the rest of your life?" Tarrin is going to make her point.

I stop and really think about her question. Is the Dauntless lifestyle really what I want? Is that where I want to call home?

"It is if you promise to meet me there. I will be happy anywhere as long as you're there with me."

I stare directly in her eyes to let her know exactly how true those words are. I have loved this girl in one way or another since I was six. I"ve had the instinct to protect her and make her smile from the beginning. Then eventually I just wanted her close to me. Then I just wanted her under me. Now I just want her to love me. She is my life, always has been, always will be.

Ten years of starring into those beautiful eyes started flipping threw my mind like a movie on a reel. The first time when they where red, scared and desperate. When she beat up a boy twice her size and they where filled with pride. When they became hooded and sparkled into her what I now call fuck me eyes.

"My question is can you?"

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[some-embellishments]

We met when we were ten, eleven. Same class in year seven at school. I remember telling people I didn’t know on the internet about how annoying he and his friends were. How they were disrupting my studies. And then later that year we both went on the same school hiking trip and I fell for him. The both of us total kids. Me with no understanding of how these things worked. And yet.

I was fixated on him for years, and then I stopped, and let it go, and of course that was when he fell for me.

---

The first time we fucked we were dancing to Nine Inch Nails in the dark in that same old dirty dive bar. I’d dragged him there. It was apparent that he was becoming interested. I asked if he wanted to stay at mine. On the way home, in an unromantic underpass, I suggested it. 

“Do you wanna have sex?” He stopped, looked at me. 

“Are you sure?”

We went to bed and it was awkward as all hell - his first time. He was sweet, tentative. He didn’t come and neither did I. I think we were both too nervous.

---

He knew he’d made a mistake as we walked through the door. The smell of damp hit us in the face and the space was not as big as he’d remembered it. He was worried that our furniture wouldn’t fit. I assured him that I would make it, and I did. But the charming exposed-brick breakfast bar couldn’t make up for the damp running through the walls. The oven that tripped the entire electrical circuit every time it warmed up. The mould that colonised everything we owned. When we discovered it blooming on the underside of our mattress we both despaired. We slept in sleeping bags on the cold tiled floor for two weeks, alternately sluicing the mattress with foul-smelling chemicals and setting it out in the tiny, dirty courtyard to dry in what little we got of the sun.

He wasn’t working and wasn’t trying particularly hard to get a job. I was working too hard, trying desperately to live up to a whole new set of expectations and growing increasingly frustrated when I failed. I was pouring everything into my career and organising the minutiae of this new life, he was dating indiscriminately and fretting about our relationship. I buried my head in the sand and spent what little free time I had viciously ignoring him. I was angry and stupid. He was angry and confused.

By the time our lease was up we were just about done. 

---

“I’m sure you’re gonna laugh at me,” he says. “You’re gonna laugh or call me stupid. But I’ve been thinking… what happens if there’s an event, or an accident, and everything goes down? If all communications and all the transport links are down. We’d never see each other again.”

Suddenly, unexpectedly, I have to fight back tears.

We’re sitting in a cosy little coffee bar next to the one I’d tried to take him to. It’s the first time he’s come to visit me in a couple of years. Two years, two big fights. The first: he admits that he’s been lying to his girlfriend about the time he spends with me. For years I’ve been thinking her jealous, paranoid… and all the while he’s been gaslighting her. The second: the two of them move back into Whitemoor, into our first home together. He tells me at the very last minute. I am devastated.

---

Whitemoor was a period of peace. He’d been chafing at my need for space but the two bedrooms and some distance from our parents made the time we spent together just perfect. Friends would spontaneously visit in the evenings. On one we came home to two of them sitting drinking in our back garden - they’d climbed over the fence. It was a hysterical, endearing surprise, the perfect expression of our friendship. Our home was the first of our school-friends’; they wanted to share in it and of course we welcomed them. We felt that they loved us with the power of vicarious future-wishing. They loved what we had. I think for a few our split was like a parents’ divorce. They were close enough to understand but they didn’t want to.

The garden was sunny, with a patio area and a long lawn. The cat loved it - jumping over the fence at the back to get lost in the field beyond. And we loved it, working our way through the selection of beers at the corner shop across the road, sitting in the sun, happy in our own company and others’. Everything painted in a warm yellow glow. We’d spend hungover Saturday mornings trawling local charity shops and Sundays re-exploring the surrounding countryside. Being more open than I have ever been with anyone before or since. Speaking with the same mouth. Revealing to each other more than we had suspected was within ourselves. We solidified, started to become adults. And began to figure out what we each wanted from the future.

But there our mouths were separate. We spoke vastly different futures. We didn’t want the same things.

---

At times like these I think about my mother and her second husband. They met when she was young, unencumbered, but he with a wife and business. He decided to try to stave off divorce and keep his investments. She acquiesced, moved on and found my father. When they met again their situations were reversed. She chose differently - broke and divorced for him. Just after she died he confessed his greatest regret to us, her grieving children; he should have given it all for her that first time around. No business could have been worth as much as she was. They wasted so much time, unaware of how little they had. Fourteen and with very little sympathy to spare, it still struck me as a tragedy.

---

At Whitemoor our mouths perhaps spoke the words that ended things. Or perhaps they staved off the end.

I once found myself telling a friend, newly cohabiting, that the moments they should both savour the most, the ones to look forward to and cherish, are those mornings where they are both hungover and all the barriers come down. That when all their needs are coalesced into a desire to comfort and be comforted, to crave skin on skin platonically, as a means to a greater connection, they’ll be the most together they can ever hope to be. Apparently it doesn’t work the same way for them. Maybe they don’t have the same barriers.

On one of our hungover-together mornings, in the car, we finished up our wanderings with a tentative question. We were so young when we began, I started, hadn’t he ever felt like he missed out? Sex is important - by denying ourselves a range of partners and experiences were we denying ourselves something fundamental? I was hesitant, worried that he’d be hurt that he wasn’t enough. But it was Whitemoor and of course our mouths spoke together; he’d been trying to parse the same problem for months now, had been agonising just as I had. We were jubilant, excited - now that the words had been spoken and no hidden compact had shattered our shared wavelength, we were free to plan our escape from convention. I think we were a little proud to be so modern - an open relationship, somehow proof that we were strong enough and free enough to take everything that we needed without risk.

But still, we fretted about those risks. We drew up rules - a material, concrete, numbered list that we kept in an underwear drawer. As we grew bolder we crossed them out one by one, invisibly. We found we could be less selfish than we expected, that jealousy was not as natural as we had been told. I honestly could not, and have never been able to, be jealous of him fucking someone else. Sex is an unlimited resource. There’s no harm, not even any charity, in sharing an unlimited resource.

As it turns out, time is not an unlimited resource. These are the words with which I end every defensive speech I aim at the opponents of polyamory, of open relationships, after extolling the virtues and surprising ease of the whole system. I’m still trying to defend against the unspoken accusation that I fucked everything up myself, with my shared mouth, asking for more than I deserved, trying to have my cake and eat it. But I’m not sure, really. Maybe it really is my greed, my fault, that has ruined everything forever. Maybe everything really is ruined forever.

---

Now he’s been and gone, the flat I’ve worked so hard on turning into comfort feels empty. The cat, conventionally stand-offish, sat on his lap and turned her head to gaze at him. Does she miss him? Is it my fault, Kate?

---

Buckingham Close is where the full stop is planted. Another welcoming, homely place, but this time without the warm yellow glow. It is not cold, not at all. The end feels slow, leisurely. To me. But perhaps only to me.

We have a basement flat at the front, a few steps to a garden through the double doors of the bedroom to the back. My bedroom - Gareth quickly claims the tiny second bedroom with a single mattress thrown on the floor and one of our chest of drawers newly dedicated to his clothes alone. I am blind to the strength of his commitment to the new one, at first. I pretend to know why it is we’re breaking up. It’s because we have different futures. It is deliberate. I hang on this. It’s not wrong, it couldn’t possibly be. He, at least, knows what we’re doing. He’s more clear-sighted than I am and has discovered that this cannot possibly work. We both believe that we’ve tried everything and it has failed. As far as I’m aware.

We visit his family in Florida for Christmas and the new one house-sits and feeds the cat.

Florida is hell. I’m ashamed of everything about me and try to cover up my neglected hair and the weight I’ve layered on. Of course it doesn’t work, and in the photos I look awful, but not unhappy. Just unworthy.

Is it this trip or the previous one that he told me he’d worried for me the entire time we flew? Two separate planes, his flight expensive, mine cheap, but we’d both worried exclusively for me the whole way. I felt guilty for presuming I’d die instead of him. So grateful that he’d been more scared for my life than his. He never was afraid of flying.

We fuck once, softly, quietly, in the Florida room we’re allotted. It doesn’t feel unnatural, it just feels a bit like ending. We fuck once more when we’re back, a strange one which breaks the poetry - there’s tenderness but not the slightest bit of romance. It is definitive in the strangest way, with hindsight, but it all felt very simple at the time.

One day he leaves the house with mischief on his face and won’t tell me where he’s going. It’s a benevolent mischief and I have high hopes for it which I’ll later regret. Some time later he does it again. When he comes back he still won’t tell me where he’s been but undresses for a shower and sallies into my room afterwards, in a towel, with a shit-eating grin. On his leg are three straight black lines. It feels like a betrayal - for all the times I have had to listen to him rant about the stupidity of getting tattoos. It feels like a mid-life crisis come early. It feels like I don’t know him any more.

As the days slip by I realise I don’t. He slips on more new facets of himself and I feel more and more alone. I still trust him to know what he’s doing. It takes me till the first year’s argument - when he reveals that the new one had no idea he was still fucking me, that they had agreed to exclusivity - to realise that it wasn’t about our incompatibility, it was that he had found someone better.

And fuck, doesn’t that still hurt.

---

His mother calls me to commiserate when he finally tells her, not long after Florida, that we’re splitting up. This is the definitive moment I remember. I was cleaning the shower and he was out with his new facets. She called and I continued cleaning, trying to keep my tears off the phone line. I told her all the things I had believed; that we had tried everything and found it impossible. I was very grateful for her sympathy. She had always been so kind to me.

When we hung up I broke down, still standing in the shower. For me, that was the point at which it all ended.

---

So when he tells me that when the world ends he’s worried he won’t be able to find me my entire heart breaks. Although I know it’s not the same thing it reminds me of my stepfather’s confession. Why did I save those tears to cry now, alone? Should I have cried them in front of him?

“Oxford,” he says. “Oxford is about equidistant. We should meet there. Where do we know in Oxford?”

“There’s that museum - the Ashmolean.” I say. I smile. “Let’s meet there.”

[owlsshadows]

Prompt: After a long day of being avoided, Shirayuki finally manages to catch Obi

The moment she enters the room time stillsand lingers around for a bit. Dust sparkles in the air as the setting sunshines through the open windows – Obi’s only way to retreat now that Shirayukistands in the door – but this is the top floor of the sentry tower and even ifhe was a cat, this height is not for him to jump out from. He could climb outto the roof from the windowsill. He could still escape – if only she didn’t holdhim captive.

The moment his eyes fall on her, he isreminded of her sighs, her breath catching in his throat, her body pressedagainst his. They are no longer in that storeroom, dark and narrow and sopromisingly cozy – they are not even relatively close, with him standing by themaps laid out on the big desk in the middle of the room and her standing in theentrance, her feet still on the last steps of the staircase leading up – yet hefeels as if their bodies had no air between them. He can smell her scent in hisnose, he can hear her breath in his ears and feel her skin under his fingers.

Shirayuki flashes a little, victorioussmile as greeting.

“Found you.”

“Miss,” Obi hisses.

She moves closer, her skirt swings aroundher legs like a bell.

Those legs hegrabbed, lifting her up and pressing her up against a vitrine –

“I was looking for you everywhere. LuckilyI’ve met Lord Makiri who told me you volunteered for sentry duty, otherwise Iwould still be roaming on the streets,” she says, lips slightly chapped fromthe wind.

– those lips whichwere so soft, so welcoming as they parted for him; so hungry and fierce as theyhurried to meet him halfway –

“Do you need something from me?” Obi asks,alarmed. Like a cat on edge, he starts moving sideways, stepping away from thedesk and inching closer to the windows.

She cocks her head to one side, hairfalling across her shoulder.

- those straystrands of hers his fingers got tangled in; that soft curve of her shoulderthat got bared for his hungry touch and lips.

“You left in a hurry,” she says.

They were never therefor him to touch. Never there for him to kiss.

“I’ve…” he starts, clenching his hands intofists unconsciously.

He slipped up. He oversteppedhis boundaries.

“I had to go,” he says.

“Where to?” she asks, stepping closer. Hisfeet come to a halt halfway between the desk and the windows.

“Away from you,” he filters through histeeth, hands shaking.

“Why?” Shirayuki asks, inching closer andcloser.

Every step of hersis a reminder.

“Miss you are…”

How she creepedupon him from behind, fingers feather light on his arms, breath of a whisper inhis ears, her nose stroking his cheek.

How she glancedupon him with eyes half-mast and lips parting with a sigh barely audible; howher hands reached for his neck to pull him down; how she kissed him as a womanhungry for love.

“I am what?” she asks. Her glance, eyesopen, green and innocent – a mockery, aiming to destroy his battle torn heart.

Obi swallows hard, fists coming up slowlyto bury his face behind them.

“I am what?” she asks again, her voiceclose, so dangerously close when his memories are on repeat – when all he canthink of is how Shirayuki kissed and touched him.

And he reversed everykiss and every touch twofold.

“Miss, I… you deserve someone better than me,”he says. He abandons it all – escape, hope, forgiveness; dropping his hands tohis sides to look back into the glossy green of her eyes. “You deserve the bestthis world can offer; not some used and worn shadow of a human like me.”

“Yuzuri was right about you,” Shirayukilifts her chin, baring her neck to the orange light of the dusk. “You reallyare completely unaware of your own worth.”

“I don’t worth a dime.”

“Obi…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting in her words.“For the kiss. For everything.”

“It was me who initiated it,” Shirayuki retorts.“I should be the one to apologize if I hurt you…”

“You did not,” Obi stresses. “It was… trulya wonderful kiss, even if I’m unworthy of it.”

“Obi!” she gets angered now, grabbing ontohis sleeves.

“Thank you, Miss. To tell the truth, Ialways wanted to know what it would feel like. But I know I’ve overstepped myboundaries. It will never happen again.”

“It will!” she argues, fingers digging deepin his arms.

Obi’s small, sad smile holds genuinegratitude. He can feel her grasp weaken before he even opens his mouth. He cansee her eyes widen in contest, her lips parting to stop him.

Her touch was softat first, timid. Only when he kissed back, her fingers spread out, diggingthrough his hair, her lips parted to sigh his name against his.

“No,” he says simply. “It won’t.”

Power he has never associated with her pusheshim and he loses balance, stumbling back against the desk. Hands that were clutchinghis sleeves just now fly up to his face, grabbing him firmly and forcing him toface her.

“Why?” she asks. Her face burns, her eyesshine wet. “Why would you disregard all my hints? Obi I know you love me, anddamn, you should also know that I love you just as well! Why would you castaway your chance at happiness? Why would you torture yourself, and torture mein the process?”

“You deserve better, Miss,” he whispers, tremblingunder her touch.

“I deserve the best,” Shirayuki replies,just as silent. “Didn’t you say so yourself?”

“You do.”

“Then allow me to decide what is the bestfor myself.”

“I…” Obi opens his mouth, but no soundcomes through.

“Yes, you,” Shirayuki leans in, pressinghim deeper into the desk as he tries to pull away. “I realized you would neverallow yourself to be free, be it your past or your damned self-loathe holdingyou back. I knew I had to take the first step, but do you know how hard it is,seducing a man without any practical experience? Knowing how a body works can onlyprovide this much help,” she flushes against him, hands pulling him in a hug. “Idon’t have a voluptuous body, yet I’m throwing myself at you. Am I conceited?Am I greedy or just simply ridiculous?”

“Miss, you’re…” he starts, hissing at theirfriction. “You’re driving me crazy and you make me unable to think.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asks, looseningher embrace to look up at his face.

“No, it’s not. Absolutely not. I’m afraid Iwill not be able to hold back if you come at me like this.”

“Oh, then it’s good, isn’t it?” Shirayukiasks back, hands flying to his shoulders to support her as she raises to hertiptoes. “I don’t want you to hold back.”

The peck she plants on his lips is soft, yetyearning.

Obi sighs against her lips, pushing her offof him with one smooth movement.

“Miss. You shouldn’t waste your life onsomeone like me.”

“Really? Then shall I marry some gallantlord and wither in their garden? I will never do so, not even if I manage toget a thousand suitors.”

“It…” Obi starts when Shirayuki plastersher hand over his mouth.

“I refuse to listen,” she says. “I think Ihave made it clear what my decision is; you don’t have to agree with it. Youcan think of me as a fool who wastes their life away. All I’m asking for is foryou to respect my decision. And accept my love.”

“It’s not something for me to accept,” hemumbles through her fingers.

“It’s yours either way,” Shirayuki says asshe steps away to better face him. “Whether you grasp on it or not, it’s yours.”

She felt so tinyin his arms, yet so full of want – he wished it was real; he wished he couldhold her for the rest of his life.

“Wouldn’t it be a bigger waste for me togrow old with you by my side, then with you together?”

“Miss…” he speaks, each movement of hislips a tiny kiss on her hand.

“I don’t want you to see me as your mistress, Obi.”

“But you are, Miss,” he argues, peeling herhand off his face with soft force.

“Can’t I be your woman?” she snaps then, hand clenching in his. “Or is it too muchto ask for…?”

It is an absurd request – a request hewouldn’t even consider if his heart was the one who whispered it.

But it comes from Shirayuki.

Shirayuki, who would blush and fade awaywhenever the topic of love comes up.

Shirayuki, whose first instinct was to runaway when Zen has made his intentions clear – Shirayuki, who creeped up on himand kissed him on her own accord.

Shirayuki, who could hardly be more direct.

“If you’re really fine with someone like me…”

“I am,” she stomps.

“… then I am all yours,” he says. “And Icouldn’t wish for anything more.”